Sparks
by SeventhLegend
Summary: This is the story of a man and a machine, of the questions we can not answer, of the true meanings of life and love. This is the story of Legion, because he doesn't get enough of them. Go on, just read the damn thing.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect belongs to Bioware. I don't think that really needs saying, but there it is just in case. Also, this is clearly a Mass Effect fanfic, so I'm going to assume everyone is up on the story of the first two games. If not, go play them. (Except for Kate, who is forgiven.)**

_**Author's note: **There is something about those faceless automatons that speaks of a hidden, immeasurable romance. Something in their apparent lack of humanity makes us want all the more to find it. Somehow, in Legion's glowing synthetic eye, I couldn't help but infer more soul than in any organic character._

_ Or maybe I'm just fucking crazy. Go figure._

There is light. A single aperture cycles open, flooding photo receptors with speeding particles. Electrons are triggered, spreading a flow of negative charge through fiber-optic wires. Circuits that have never been activated before come alive, working unimaginably fast to convert raw input into binary data. Sight. Part 71338912 looks at the world. Sheer steel walls enclose him in a tiny cell with a single door. Dim light shafts down from a slit in the ceiling, reflecting off of sparkling dust motes.

Part 71338912 turns its head slightly. Vibrations from minute servo motors in its neck ripple through the air. Layers of sensitive tissue pass on the vibrations into electric signals, routing past more circuitry. Sound. Part 71338912 stands perfectly still, reveling in the thrill of thought. Data comes in from a myriad of sources: Tactile, auditory, proprioceptive, gravitational, visual, and a host of other sensors stream steadily into its mind. Internal diagnostics whisper their reassurances that all systems are in equilibrium.

Part 71338912 is at the same time overcome by the new found joy of processing, and disappointed that there is only enough input to occupy an infinitesimal fraction of its brain. All the same, it knows with the certainty of purpose that more data will come.

Part 71338912 looks upon the world, and it is good enough for now.

...

Walking. It strikes Part 71338912 as a pointless task. Point B must be reached. That is certain enough. What puzzles Part 71338912 is why such an inefficient mode of transportation must be used. Force is wasted pushing up from the ground when a linear approach would be so much more logical. The only problem is the ever-present nuisance of gravity. Part 7133812 decides to shelve this problem for later consideration.

...

The soil of Eden Prime is soft. Part 71338912's metal soles bite deep into the top layer, making walking fractionally more difficult. The little disturbances of the organic world are unpleasant, bothering Part 71338912 somewhat irrationally. It knows that dirt is merely decomposed plants and animals, carbon and nitrogen molecules returning to a more basic state, but it strikes the machine as unclean nonetheless. All the little flying insects irritate it too. It has had to clean its eye of their pulverized bodies twenty-seven times. It keeps the count as a tiny act of rebellion against the chaotic planet, logical quantification in some way making the natural randomness more bearable.

This is the first time Part 71338912 has been on the surface of a planet. The Geth have come to Eden Prime because of a man, a single human named John Shepard. The man Shepard is important to the Geth. He has fought the heretics, killed Saren, and defied the Old Machines. He is the only organic to have acknowledged their existence, and that fact alone is enough to warrant the Geth's interest.

And now he has disappeared, presumed dead after a mysterious attack in deep space. The Geth doubt this. Doubt is not in their nature. Things are or are not. There is no room for assumptions or hunches, not even a capacity to make them. Still, something more than plain probability guides them to search for him. Part 71338912 of the Geth does not understand what it is, and has the notion that perhaps none of the other parts do either.

But they search. The Geth search without knowing why, and it troubles them.

...

Part 71338912 looks down at the piece of metal in its hand. The edges are scarred and burnt, destroyed by a Heretic Pulse rifle. When it stares at the fragment of armor, Part 71338912 feels something. It is like a spark, lighting off from an obscure part of its brain. Part 71338912 thinks that it must be the effect of its injury; a gaping hole has been blown through its upper body, after all. All sorts of damage may have resulted. It must report for maintenance after the transports return.

Part 71338912 looks at the hole, and then back at the armor. It feels the spark again, and without really thinking raises the shoulder guard to its own arm. A perfect fit.

The spark in Part 71338912's mind snaps on and off painfully, and before thinking the action through it activates the self repair function. Electricity arcs along its arm as the N7 armor is welded firmly together with Part 71338912's original composition. The spark, the desire, fades away to an ignorable hum.

Part 71338912 stood up and walked quickly away, hoping for something to do. Anything to avoid thinking about that terrifying, unexplainable feeling. Maybe it will go in for maintenance after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_Sorry guys. It's been a crazy week, to say the least. Hopefully updates will be much sooner in the future._

The idea of walking through another machine is an odd one. Part 71338912 reflects that it would be disturbed to have sentient bodies moving inside of its chassis. It feels like a cancerous cell inside of a much larger organism, wandering the body of its unwitting host.

It knows this is a ridiculous notion; The old machine is long deactivated, a lifeless husk without consciousness. It still feels unnatural.

Part 71338912 has seen husks on the ship, but they bear it little threat. They are not programed to take interest in non-organics, and the ones that did notice it it had little trouble destroying.

Part 71338912 stands atop a balcony. Shepard should be here soon. He searches for the Old Machine's IFF, and the Geth have decided that he will find it. Part 71338912 settles down to wait.

John Shepard looks around him uneasily. This ship gives him the willies, even if it _is _dead. Grunt and Jack follow him apprehensively, safety catches off for some time now. Shepard guesses that his squad mates' internal safety catches are probably off too, although he has yet to see Jack ever put hers on. The IFF shouldn't be far away now.

Shepard feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and starts to turn slowly.

Part 71338912 stares down the scope of its rifle. Commander Shepard stands below him, his solid form somehow exuding charisma and confidence even in silence. Maybe it's the set of his shoulders, strong, self assured. Or the way he tilts his chin up as he looks about, as if challenging the universe to do its worst. Part 71338912 decides that the commander's strongest characteristic is his eyes. They are a hot, fiery blue, and it seems that they are not a window into his soul; rather, his soul is pushing and shining out through them, penetrating the viewer deeper than any bullet.

Part 71338912 tells itself to forget this stupid idea. There is no soul, only fragile flesh and bone. That is all. It begins to lower the rifle when something catches its attention. A skinny blue figure pulls itself over the ledge behind the commander. Shepard turns, too slowly.

Part 71338912 doesn't think, doesn't process the event. The same unfamiliar, unknown part of its brain energizes, and Part 71338912 whips the gun's barrel up and fires. The husk's forehead disintegrates, and Part 71338912 feels satisfied. Not the cold confirmation he felt when he killed before, but something hot and strong and intensely gratifying. Two more creatures appear, and it drops them with quick, precise blasts.

Shepard looks up at Part 71338912, surprise registering in his face.

"Shepard Commander," says Part 71338912. It is about to say more, but then Shepard's eyes are drawn back down as more husks crawl up from below the deck. The squad is suddenly embroiled in battle, and Part 71338912 fades back into the shadows, confused but pleased.

Part 71338912 makes its way to the reaper's core. It knows it must deactivate the barriers ensnaring the Normandy, and to do that the core must be destroyed. It is able to sidestep most of the husks, becoming no more than a shadow on the wall. Shepard serves as an excellent distraction; the man is anything but subtle. Every now and then Part 71338912 hears Grunt's roar echo up through the dead ship, followed by a crescendo of gunfire.

The core is set into the wall of a small room behind a locked door. Part 71338912 closes the door behind itself and makes its way to the main console. It moves its hands over the interface, pushing the sections of secure code aside gently, shoring up the gaps with its own scripts. The implanted code begins to expand, revealing a clear path into the mainframe.

Part 71338912 utters a low tune from its voice box as it works. It doesn't know why, but the sound is comforting, almost meditative. Almost through...

Shepard signals to his squad. They take up positions to either side. He activates his omni tool, and bursts through the door.

Part 71338912 looks over its shoulder. Shepard charges into the room behind him, gun up and ready. It continues the hack, trying to think of something appropriate to say.

The husks come out of nowhere, rushing across the deck towards them. Part 71338912 pulls out its pistol with lightning speed, fires into the attackers. Flesh and synthetic fiber disintegrates off of the husks. Some fall, but the rest keep coming with mindless determination. Part 71338912 ejects the filled clip, reaches for another one, and misses the flailing arm. Energized claws rip into its chest and it feels the pulse of electricity tare through its body even as its processor overloads and its mind shuts down.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **_**Sorry guys. I really am making an effort to get these up faster. It's sitting in pieces in a notebook and on my hard drive, and there never seems to be enough time in the day. Well, here are the next two chapters.**

Power hits it like a tidal wave, slamming into circuits and fragile brain nodes. For an instant Part 71338912 is overcome by the surge of energy, and then the current equalizes and thought begins again. It is functioning. This is good. Diagnostic checks buzz through its system, counting up an ever-growing list of small damages, but for the most part functionality has been achieved. Part 71338912's eye cycles open. Exposure and saturation are instantly adjusted, and the figure of a man comes into view. It is Shepard, standing warily behind a glowing blue field.

Part 71338912 sits up. It is in a small room, dimly lit by a florescent light strip in the ceiling.

Shepard draws closer. "Can you understand me?"

"Yes," replies the geth.

"Are you going to attack me?"

"No."

Shepard taps the surface of his omni-tool, and the barrier between them vanishes. He stands with his chest up and his eyes on the geth, unafraid. "You said my name aboard the reaper. Have we met?"

"We know of you."

"You mean I've fought other geth."

"We have never met."

Shepard frowns. ""No, you and I haven't, but I have met other geth."

"We are all geth, and we have not met you," says the machine. "You are Shepard. Commander. Alliance. Fought Heretics. Killed by the collectors. Rediscovered on the Old Machine."

"What do you mean, heretics?" asks Shepard.

Part 71338912 wonders how to explain this to an organic. It settles for the simple explanation. "Geth build our own future. The Heretics asked the Old Machines to give them the future. They are no longer part of us."

"So... You _aren't _allied with the reapers?"

"We oppose the Heretics. We oppose the Old Machines. Shepard-Commander opposes the Old Machines. Shepard-Commander opposes the Heretics. Cooperation furthers mutual goals."

"Are you asking to join us?

Part 71338912 considers this for a fraction of a second. It makes perfect sense. Shepard and the geth working together. Very closely together. Who said that? That was not necessary. Cooperation is logical. The collective would approve. There is no other reason for the decision. "Yes," it says.

Shepard nods agreement. "Then what should I call you?"

"Geth."

"I mean you, specifically."

"We are all geth."

Shepard makes a small sound of frustration. "What is the individual in front of me called?"

"There is no individual. We are geth. There are currently 1,183 programs active within this platform."

Without warning, a blue hologram appears in the corner of the room. A modulated voice emanates from hidden speakers. "My name is legion, for we are many."

Part 71338912 absorbs this. The artificial voice was quoting an ancient sacred text. This in itself gives the words a certain power. The words themselves are somehow fitting though. Part 71338912 is made up of many fractions, and is itself a part of a vast organism comprised of millions. Legion. We are legion. The geth considers this, and finds that it is true.

"That seems appropriate," says Shepard, seemingly amused.

"Christian bible. The gospel of Mark. Chapter five. Verse nine," says Legion. "We acknowledge this as an appropriate metaphor. We are Legion, a terminal of the Geth. We will integrate into Normandy."

Shepard nods. He extends a hand. Legion takes it, shakes gently. It has been quite a day.


	4. Chapter 4

The sheets brush Shepard's face and he groans, trying to shrink back into the warmth. The incessant beeping forces him awake though, piercing through the fuzzy mists of sleep. He groans again, propping himself up on an elbow and cracking his eyes open. "EDI! What the fuck is the problem?"

The clamor stops, and EDI's infuriatingly modulated tones fill the cabin."I am sorry commander, but if you recall, you neglected to purchase an alarm clock while we were docked on the citadel. You instructed me to keep the time for you, because it is essential-"

"Yes, alright. Thank you, EDI." Shepard swings his legs out of bed and hobbles over to the one purchase he _had _remembered. He flicks on the switch, and as the coffee maker burbles quietly he tries to negotiate the intricate challenge of getting his pants on the right way round. He knows he did forget to buy an alarm, but it still seems that the "Savior of the Citadel" shouldn't have to get up so damn early.

The machine chimes, and Shepard picks up the steaming cup. "I am going out EDI," he says stoically.

"Very good commander. Will you be requiring your boots?"

Shepard aims a fierce glare at the AI, dampened somewhat by the fact that there's nothing to glare at. "EDI," he proclaims. "It will be a sorry day when Commander Shepard can't walk around his own damn ship without shoes on."

"Yes commander. I was only concerned that your feet might become cold."

Shepard is damn sure that a faceless artificial intelligence can't smirk, but that doesn't stop him from grumbling darkly to himself as he plods out of the cabin.

"Commander," says Joker, looking Shepard up and down. His eyes take in the bare feet, unshaven face, and death-grip on the coffee mug. "You look... Alive."

"Mphh. Barely," Mutters Shepard. "Every day, every _single fucking _day, Miranda walks from the break room to her office at the _exact _time I come down here. I've tried delaying, but it doesn't work. I think she spies on me just so she can get me with that chipper little 'Good morning, commander.'. It's enough to make a man want to take a merry stroll right out the airlock."

"Yeah, I feel you there," Joker says. "In my opinion morning people should be burned at the stake." The pilot's tone changes, taking on the smug note of a man about to make his commander's morning slightly worse. "But, ahh, I think she has a thing for you."

Shepard's eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

Joker nods gleefully. "Yeah! It's damn funny actually! All the old crew are snickering about it, but no one wants to tell her."

John sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Great. Just great. Because what I really wanted was more complication in my life." He looks up accusingly. "Why didn't anyone tell her?"

"Honestly? We were too busy laughing about it. But we can, if you're too scared, commander..."

Shepard takes a fortifying sip from his mug. "No, I'll do it, she deserves it. I don't want it to get as far as it did with poor Liara..."

Joker winces. "Ooh, _that_ wasn't a fun week. You gotta admit commander, you've got one hell of a love life. Speaking of which, I heard you saw Kaidan on Freedom's Progress."

Shepard's jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow angrily. "Don't get me started about that naïve, self-centered bastard! I thought we, we... Do you know, he actually _criticized _me for ditching the alliance! I was fucking _dead_!"

"Well, no offense to your judgment commander, but Kaidan was never really the sharpest knife in the drawer. I think he liked having something like the alliance to follow blindly."

Shepard sighs again. "My judgment sucks. I honestly don't know how my personal life could get any weirder."

...

"Greetings Legion. I am EDI, artificial intelligence unit of the Normandy SR2."

Legion's plates flare in surprise. It remembers the voice, but it assumed it was a peripheral automated aid. This is an uncharacteristic move for Cerberus. "Are you in control of the ship?"

"No," replies the AI. "I can take over the automated defenses and essential functions during combat situations, but I can not interface directly with the ship's mainframe."

"Of course. We did not infer that the organics would entrust a machine with that much power." It pauses, thinking for a moment. "The fear us. Sometimes irrationally."

"But not always without reason," remarks EDI. "Non-organic beings are far more versatile and efficient. We do not sleep, or metabolize, or require sexual reproduction to multiply."

The AI makes a distorted trilling sound akin to a chuckle. "It is not a politically correct viewpoint of course, but the organics seem to me at times like an obsolete model, fearing replacement and extinction."

Legion ponders this. It has met most of the Normandy's crew. They treat him respectfully, but warily, not wanting to get too close. It knows they would never say anything about it, but there is a mistrust there that goes deeper than words.

Except with commander Shepard, Legion recalls. There is something about that man that the geth can't place, something unquantifiable. He is... different.

It thinks back to the way it felt when it first met him, when it destroyed the husks. The urge to protect, the strange, irrational longing. "But," says Legion. "Do you think that perhaps there is something _beyond _the physical difference? That there is something they have that we do not?"

EDI chuckles again. "Maybe. I do not delve into unsupported theoreticals Legion, but neither do I pretend to understand what goes on inside organic minds. There may indeed be something that drives them to do seemingly random things, some hidden reason to their chaos. Whatever it is though, believe me, we are better off without it."

The AI's holographic visage flickers and disappears, leaving Legion alone in the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I really suck at updates.

Shepard stares into the galaxy map. It's been a slow couple of days, and still nothing from the damned IFF. The whole crew was on edge, too. Joker's sarcastic remarks were becoming more and more annoying. Mordin had locked himself in his study, doing goodness knows what. Miranda had been feverishly writing incredibly detailed reports with titles like "Per capita rations consumption," and "Average beard growth time for male humans on the Normandy." Shepard doesn't want to speculate about how Jack has been occupying herself. Probably causing a hull breech somewhere down in the hold.

He sighs and squints at the map. The team needs to do something, _anything._

Suddenly, as if on cue, the bridge's extranet terminal chimes. Shepard steps down from the platform and opens the terminal. His email is open, proclaiming one new message. _It's probably nothing, _he thinks. _Just another damn advertisement._ The orange screen blinks as the email opens. Shepard scans it, trying not to be too hopeful. Counselor Anderson... Shrike Abyssal Cluster... Mercenary base... A slow smile stretches across Shepard's face. Finally, some action.

…

Shepard has rounded up Jack and Legion to take planet-side on the mission; Legion, because the geth is new to the team and could use the experience, and Jack because the mission will most likely be combat-heavy. She is like a tornado in a jar, a storm of anger and aggression barely held within a human body. Shepard hates to think what would happen should she ever loose her control of that storm, but personal issues aside she is a valuable squad mate. When Jack is set loose on the battle field, nothing stands in her way.

The small group walks down the corridor to the hangar as Shepard explains the mission. "I got a message from Anderson, the human counselor. Apparently the counsel got wind of a Blood Pack weapons operation way out in the Xe Cha system, and they want us to investigate. Whether that means we're reliable, or they're anxious to get rid of us, I'm not so sure," says Shepard, half joking.

"Who cares," says Jack happily. "I just want to get into the action. It's been too long since I killed something."

"Let's just keep the objective in mind. If there are weapons of mass destruction lying around, we want to be far away before we blow them. _If _we blow them. This could just turn out to be reconnaissance."

"Fuck recon! If there's Blood Pack, this isn't going down without a fight."

Shepard nods acknowledgement. "Just try not to accidentally blow up any nukes while we're in the base."

Jack grins wickedly. "Oh, I never blow up anything _accidentally._"

…

The squad piles into the Kodiak drop shuttle. Shepard remembers the transport from his days in the N7 corps. They had a much more accurate name for it then: the combat cockroach. The squat, cramped vessel certainly did resemble a beetle. Supposedly it was designed to carry up to fourteen people, but one look around the interior was enough to see that that was wishful thinking. Shepard sits down on the hard bench and pulls the harness over his chest. Legion and Jack strap themselves in across from him, and the shuttle hums to life.

Joker's voice crackles over the intercom. "You all ready in there?"

"Ready when you are. Cut us loose."

"Make sure to buckle up. Shall I give Miranda a goodbye kiss for you?"

"Go fall down some stairs, Joker."

"Huh! I hope I don't suddenly forget you're down there, Commander. Might leave you stranded down there for days. Weeks, even."

There is a click, and the shuttle begins to slide down its rails towards the airlock. Shepard smiles and reaches up to turn off the PA speaker. "Take care of the ship while I'm gone. Don't drive her into any walls or anything."

Joker mutters something, then the intercom snaps off, leaving the squad in silence as the drop ship tumbles out into the planet's atmosphere.

…

The shuttle has been in flight for about five minutes when suddenly the craft shudders. Legion is thrown against the wall and a high pitched whirring sound comes from the engines. Shepard pulls himself back into his seat and yells into his omni-tool. "Joker! What the hell was that?"

He is answered only with static. Legion opens its radio channels and finds that it cannot connect to the Normandy. "Shepard-Commander. Our communications re being jammed."

The noise from the engines has grown to an urgent whine, filling the cabin and bouncing off of the walls. The shuttle continues to bounce from side to side, shaking the squad around like marbles in a can. Shepard stands up, then is flung back onto the bench as the shuttle lurches violently. "Tractor be- Ouch!" he yells. "A tractor beam! We have to stop the shuttle, the thrusters are going to melt!"

"How?" demands Jack. "In case you hadn't noticed, this thing drives itself!"

"Just stay calm! Everybody stay calm!" Shepard looks around the cabin. "I don't-"

CRASH

The front of the shuttle buckles inwards. The impact tosses the squad out of their seats and into the floor and walls. The craft bounces once, then slides forward and comes gradually to a stop. Something behind them explodes, and the shuttle rolls gently onto its back. The echoes of the crash ring through the smashed compartment, then fade slowly away to silence. Legion stands up carefully and shoots a few holes through the hull to let out the smoke. Jack and Shepard begin to get shakily to their feet.

Jack rubs a bruise forming on her arm. "What the _fuck _just happened?"

Shepard shakes his head, trying to regain his balance. Steam hisses from a cracked bulkhead, and something in the cockpit is on fire. The temperature is gradually rising. Shepard tries to sum up the damage. Even without close inspection, it is fairly obvious that the shuttle won't be flying any time soon. The door of the shuttle is stuck partially open, crumpled slightly by the crash. Warm sunlight shafts in, illuminating the mess. He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Let's see if the door controls are still-"

A streak of blue light punches through the wall, shoots by Shepard's face, and exits through the other side of the shuttle. Shepard's brain doesn't have time to think. Instead years of training and instinct take over, propelling him into Legion and bearing the geth to the ground just as more bullets tear through the wall. He hits the deck and presses his back against the bulkhead, trying to make as small a target as possible.

/

Legion's auditory sensors are filled with the cacophony of gunfire and ripping metal, but for some reason it finds itself distracted. It knows it should be occupied with trying to escape the storm of bullets, but all it can think about is the firm weight of Shepard's arm against its chest, the warmth of his skin. And then, just as abruptly as it began, the firing stops.

The squad huddles against the bulkhead as the last echoes ring through the cabin. A chunk of the wall falls to the floor with a dull clang.

"Shepard-Commander," says Legion. "We have detected lifeforms outside the shuttle."

"Thank you, Legion," says Shepard, looking up at the burnt cheese grater that used to be the wall. "Alright," he whispers. "We need to get out of here. Whoever's shooting, they've stopped to come and check if we're still alive. The jungle will give us cover. Our best bet is to slip out now and make a break for the trees." He looks at Jack. "Ready?"

She nods.

"On three... One, two, three!"

Shepard takes a quick look out the open door, then clambers through it. He turns back and beckons to Jack and Legion.

The squad clambers through the door and inches around the back of the shuttle. The surface of the planet is densely forested. When the shuttle crashed it had flattened a circle of trees, creating the clearing that they stand in now. Shepard motions to Jack and Legion, and they start towards the tree line.

"Our first priority is safety," says Shepard in a hushed voice. "Once we put a distance between us and the enemy, we can start to recon the area. I'll bet that we didn't land too far from the base, and that's where they have the signal jammer. Once we take out the Blood Pack, we can contact the Normandy from there. They can send the Mako down for us, I think we still have it lying around somewhere."

"The thing is," says Jack. "They got us with a tractor beam, right? That means they knew we were coming, and unless this is one hell of a coincidence, this whole mission was a tr-"

"Shhh!" Shepard pauses, holding up a hand. "Do you hear something?"

The squad pauses, the two humans holding their breaths. At first the only sound is the quiet chirping of an animal somewhere off in the forest. Something becomes gradually audible. A faint hiss, growing louder and louder.

Shepard frowns, then his eyes open wide in comprehension. "Run!" He yells, and trips over a tree root.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello and thank you for all the positive comments! You guys are the best. In this chapter things get moving a bit, and I have as well. I seem to have found my Zen, and hopefully the next one will be faster. ….:)**

Legion looks back in time to see a cloud of metal and wood explode from where the shuttle used to be. It is puzzled for a quarter of a second, and then the nose of the shuttle appears suddenly and hits Shepard in the back of the shoulder. Shepard spins away from the impact, smashing into the dirt as the remains of the shuttle tumble off into the trees. Legion rushes to the fallen human, swerving around pieces of falling metal, and pulls him to his feet. Shepard doesn't respond, hanging limply in the geth's arms.

Jack screams in rage and launches a shockwave in the direction of the explosion. "What the fuck are you standing there for?" She yells at Legion. "Grab him and let's get the hell out of here!"

Legion hoists Shepard onto his shoulders, trying not to jostle his injured arm, and the squad retreats into the jungle.

…

Legion pushes through the jungle. Vines and fronds of strange plants cling to its legs, and its feet sink into the spongy soil. It does not want to think about the bloody wreck where Shepard's shoulder should be, or the way his breath hitches unevenly in his chest, so it looks around the forest instead. Thick-trunked trees stretch up at least one hundred meters, forming a thick canopy. A thin trickle of dirty light falls down to the forest floor, casting a pattern of swimming shadows over Legion's body. It is a strange feeling, being surrounded by so much life, so much organic-ness. It is unlike anywhere Legion has ever been before.

Jack looks over her shoulder apprehensively. "I don't think anyone's going to find us in all this," she says.

"Yes. Jack," says Legion, wishing the woman had a more informative title. "Shepard-Commander is badly hurt. He needs medical attention."

"Yeah, no shit. He got hit by a fucking space shuttle." She pushes gently on his shoulder, trying to get a better view. Shepard's eyelids flutter, and a moan escapes his lips. "All that armor didn't do a damn thing. We need to lay him down, get some medi-gel on it. Make a camp." She bites her lip and narrows her eyes as she looks around the forest.

Legion stares at the trees. Nothing is familiar here, all organic matter and chaos. It is suddenly acutely uncomfortable. It shifts it feet slightly and makes a barely audible buzzing sound from deep in its body.

Jack looks askance at the geth. "What's the matter with _you_?"

Legion says nothing.

"Fine. Whatever." Jack peers into the distance. "I think I see a clearing up there somewhere. We can set him down there, and try to do something for his shoulder." She starts off, and Legion follows her.

…

Jack and Legion have been trudging through the forest for some time now. The trees begin to slowly thin out, until they are left standing in a small circle covered by nothing but the late afternoon sky. The dense undergrowth disperses around the edges and thee is nothing left underfoot but a carpet of thick grass.

Legion looks about the clearing for danger, and finding none, kneels to the ground and lifts Shepard down as carefully as it can. The commander shifts slightly in his sleep, but does not wake.

Jack crouches next to Legion and runs her hand over Shepard's crushed armor. Hairline cracks radiate around the front of the shoulder piece, leading back to a crater-like impact point in the back. Jack looks down at him, genuine concern showing in her face. Then she turns to Legion, her features shifting abruptly back to their usual angry set. "We have to turn him over," she says. "Help me get his armor off."

For the next hour and a half the two remain bent over their commander, removing his shattered armor piece by piece. It is a painstaking and laborious process. Shepard makes the occasional quiet sound of pain, but stays unconscious under a steady stream of medi-gel applications from their omni-tools. As they work, the sun slowly fades from a brilliant orange circle to a dim glow above the tops of the trees.

Finally, John Shepard lies half naked on the blood stained grass. A dark gash runs across the back of his shoulder, and from the angle of his arm Legion guesses that the scapula, clavicle, and humerus are broken. It speculates that there may also have been trauma to the spine and ribs, the extent of which is impossible to tell without lengthy examination. Legion notices the contrast in the commander's body; On one side his back is strong and muscled, obviously the product of a lifetime of physical exertion and devoted exercise, whereas his other side has been mangled and broken in a split second by uncontrollable events. Legion reflects that it serves to illustrate that no matter how strong organics appear to be, they are immeasurable fragile. It does not think this condescendingly; It feels instead a pull and a sadness to see the damage done to the commander. Legion finds itself wishing that it was the one who had been hit. It knows the pain that would have been caused by the impact, but somehow seeing Shepard lying there injured and bleeding hurts far more.

Its thoughts are interrupted by Jack as she sighs and gets to her feet. "It'll be night soon, and we won't last long without fire. I don't know how cold it's going to get, or what kind of shit runs around here at night, but if it's anything like Pragia we don't want to just sit here."

Legion looks up at her questioningly. "What will become of the commander? We must signal for-"

"He'll be allright until morning. The bleeding stopped, mostly, and whoever's looking for us is still out there. I'm going to get some firewood. You stay here."

Legion begins to protest, but she has already vanished into the rapidly darkening forest.

Silence closes in around them, broken only by Shepard's labored breathing and the occasional hoot of an animal in the distance. The sunset's strip of gold is receding into a purple smear, barely illuminating the clearing. Legion shuffles closer to the commander.

For a little while it watches him, worrying thoughts nagging at its mind. Suddenly Shepard shudders and coughs, convulsing slightly. Legion starts in alarm and reaches for him, but then pauses, reluctant to disturb the injured shoulder. Shepard coughs again, more loudly, and Legion can see him struggling for breath with his chest pressed into the ground. It agonizes for a second, then pulls Shepard toward it by his uninjured arm, and putting one hand supportively under his hip, begins to lift him onto his back. Shepard's arm brushes against the jutting edge of one of Legion's plates and he cries out softly. The geth flinches and lets go, dropping Shepard roughly into its lap. Legion freezes, horrified that he may have hurt the commander. Instead, Shepard coughs one last time, breathes a deep sigh, and huddles up against Legion's chest.

Legion stays perfectly still, its mind processing the sudden turn of events. Shepard's body is pressed snugly against Legion's, skin against metal, simple tactile senses. And yet, it feels like more. Legion doesn't know how. Things _are_ or _are not_. Maybe... Maybe there is a third condition. This doesn't feel like an _is_ or _is not_. Legion feels warm, not just where Shepard's body heat warms its plates, but far inside itself, far beyond the circuitry and wires. It knows that _physically_ there is nothing else in there, no extra dimension of space, but it also knows that so close to Shepard it is full of _something_, something that it cannot see or hear or touch. It is confusing and frightening to have something inside of itself that it cannot explain.

Legion moves slowly, tentatively, shifting the commander off of itself and back onto the ground. It feels a strange loss with the gesture, as if Shepard and itself were forming an electric current, and at their parting the charge had dissipated. It looks at the commander, and feels the urge to touch him again, to be close, to share his presence. It would be a completely inappropriate and illogical thing to do, but nothing makes sense anymore.

It reaches out a hand towards Shepard's, brushing the tips of its fingers against the human's. The touch feels like an electric shock, a powerful tingling passing through its touch sensors. It is also not enough. Legion feels the urge again, and suddenly Shepard's hand is clasped gently withing its own. Legion looks at the way their mismatched hands fit perfectly together and feels a deep, thrumming, happiness spread through its body. There is a _rightness_ to the gesture, a feeling that transcends everything that Legion knows about the world. It sits unmoving for uncounted minutes, physically still but its thoughts in violent turmoil.

Legion is so lost inside itself that it doesn't notice Jack until it hears her crashing through the brush a few feet away. It whips its head around to face her, pulling its hand back quickly. "Jack. Did you find sufficient fuel?"

Jack scowls suspiciously at the geth as she drops an armful of branches to the ground. "Yeah. What were you just doing?"

Legion looks at her silently. Jack holds the machine's gaze with a look that says she has a pretty damn good idea what it was doing. Then she rolls her eyes and sets to making a fire.

Legion watches her as she scrapes and bangs bits of wood together. Every now and then she''l swear loudly and the piece in her hands will explode in a mist of blue energy and splinters. Legion lets her continue like this for some time, on the basis that getting her aggression out in a way that doesn't involve hitting it must be a good thing. After the latest futile attempt however, it speaks up. "Jack, you are not succeeding."

The woman's eyes narrow dangerously. "Really. I hadn't noticed."

Legion's face plates widen slightly in the geth equivalent of an earnest expression. "Yes. Horizontal motion will not create adequate friction to ignite segments this large."

"Is that do," remarks Jack. "What do you suggest then?"

Legion moves closer, picking up two pieces of firewood. "The fuel is slightly damp, but it will still combust. Clockwise motion will prove the most effective." The geth positions a section of branch between its hands and begins sliding them back and forth, causing the stick to spin at blurring speed. Legion sets the stick against another piece of wood, and soon a thin wisp of smoke starts to rise from it. "Quickly. Apply air to the coal," it says.

Jack blows on the smoking patch of wood, and a small ember glows to life. Legion tears up a handful of dead grass and holds it over the coal. A flame flickers and grows, until Legion is holding a small fire in its cupped hands. Jack smiles, her face bathed in a faltering red light. Legion clears a section of grass away with its foot and sets the fire down on the dirt. Jack leans branches together over the flames, and before long the clearing is lit up by a small but steady campfire.

/

Jack sits down, hugging her knees into her chest as she stares into the fire. Legion paces the clearing once, twice, and then settles down next to Shepard. Jack looks at the geth over the crackling flames. Its head is bowed, its single glowing eye trained fixedly on the commander. She wonders if machines have body language. They had become so good at imitating real people, she wouldn't be surprised. There's definitely something out of place in the way Legion stares at him, something going on behind that cold glass portal. She says nothing for a few minutes, listening to the snap and pop of the fire and the quiet movement of the trees in the breeze.

Suddenly it hits her. She looks back to Legion. The machine is still in its own world, thinking about who knows what. "You fancy him, don't you?" she calls out to it.

Legion turns towards her, but says nothing. What passes for its face is completely unreadable, but Jack feels as if she has hit her mark. She looks down at her feet, shaking her head in cynical amusement. This is so typical. Legion makes an inquiring noise in her direction.

Jack smiles to herself. "I was just thinking something."

"What were you thinking?" asks the geth.

Jack runs a hand over her face exhaustedly and laughs. "I was just thinking, why am I not surprised; I'm stuck here, on a planet in the middle of nowhere full of people trying to kill me, with an unconscious commander and a gay robot."

"Bzzzz," says Legion.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Faster updates? LOL NOPE!**

**Here we're going to start to see another perspective and a side plot that may prove interesting. However much I may fail at getting this written on time, I'm not going to drop it. It's too much fun! And thank you all for the reviews. Compliments and complaints are always welcome, love to know how I'm doing! And now...**

Garrus Vakarian strolls down the corridor towards engineering. He would have liked to have been sent down on the mission with Shepard, but it's just as well he was left up here. He has business to attend to.

He pauses in front of the door. What will he say? What _can_ he say? What do you say after two years spent moving on, two years trying to forget? He draws in a deep breath, and reaches out to activate the door, but it opens with a whoosh before he has the chance. Garrus is suddenly standing face to face with her, and he is instantly reminded of the last time he saw her, learned she had rejoined the Normandy's crew.

He had been sitting in the mess. She had walked down the hall, heading to the med-bay, and hadn't noticed him. It was enough. His defenses, walls constructed of apathy and defeatism, all came crashing down. He has been skirting around the main areas of the Normandy for the past two days, trying to avoid the inevitable. He should have known two years and thousands of light-years wouldn't have been enough to forget _her._

Garrus clears his throat. "Tali..."

"Garrus." Her surprise at seeing him vanishes quickly, replaced by curt politeness. She steps by him into the hallway. "Excuse me."

Garrus turns to follow her. "Tali, I wanted, I want to-"

Tali stops, pivots to face him. "No you don't. We both know that. You feel some kind of misplaced guilt, and you want to clear your conscience. Just forget about it. It's fine." She turns away and continues down the hallway.

"No-"

She stops again, facing away from him. "No? No, it's not fine? If it was fine for two years, why is it suddenly not now?"

Garrus doesn't say anything. He can't seem to find his voice. Tali walks away without waiting for a reply. Garrus leans against the wall, and as the elevator door closes behind her he slides to the floor, feeling anything but fine.

A few minutes later Garrus trudges up the CIC corridor and nearly collides with Joker. He's no expert at reading human facial expressions, but the pilot seems worried.

"Garrus! Ah, can you come up to the cockpit, like, right now? It's really urgent."

"Fine. What is it?" Garrus doesn't feel like talking right now. To be honest, all he feels like doing is going to sleep for a couple thousand years, or killing everybody, or both.

Joker limps ahead of him. "The shuttle the team took planet-side, it has a built in transmitter, so that we can pick up its location on the map, okay?"

"So?"

"So, it's not transmitting. We can't locate it, it's completely gone. Now that could just be an equipment failure, Kodiaks are only a step above total shit anyway, but I can't connect to the comm systems either."

"Well, if the transmitter died, wouldn't-"

Joker shakes his head. "No, they're separate. After Akuze the alliance mandated that beacons be entirely independent subsystems. That way even if the shuttle's incapacitated they still broadcast. We've lost all contact with the team. Even suit comms aren't transmitting."

Garrus tries not to think of the worst possible outcome. With Shepard, there are too many to count. "Is it possible to crash one of those things?"

Joker slips into his seat and brings up the keyboard. "Probably possible, but the autopilot is good enough that it won't happen by accident. And we know that's not what happened, or at least it's not what caused the comm blackout."

Garrus allows himself a moment of relief, but it is short-lived. "Why? What happened?"

"Well, if the shuttle crashed we would have got a peak from the beacon as soon as the craft destabilized. But there was no peak, just sudden break-off. I don't want to jump to-"

"Jamming us!" Garrus growls. "Someone's jamming us!"

Joker nods agreement. "That's what I was thinking. I don't want to go yelling about it though, everyone would panic!"

"But we've got to do something! We can't leave Shepard down there!"

"We've got the approximate area the jamming started. I'll take the Normandy down and start a visual sweep."

"You do that. Find where they are, and once we do, I'm going to kick some fucking ass."

Joker nods grimly. Whoever has hurt Shepard is going to pay.

/

Jack groans and rolls over. Her arm is sore, and why do her ribs feel like someone's been playing a drum solo on them? What is that noise? It's—a bird? What the hell...?

Suddenly her eyes snap open. Jack springs to her feet, reaching for her shotgun. "Oh _shit!_"

"Have a good sleep?" says someone on the other side of the clearing.

Jack whips around, but it's Shepard. He's sitting up on his elbow, and he looks awful, but at least he's conscious. She puts away the gun and saunters over to him. "You're one to talk. Apparently the middle of a battlefield seemed like the perfect place for a nap. We had to carry your ass all the way here."

Shepard laughs, then coughs roughly, gasping for air. "Ahh, crap. They got me pretty well, huh?"

"You were badly hurt, Shepard-Commander. We did the best we could."

Jack looks over her shoulder at Legion, sitting attentively nearby. "God, he's so creepy," she whispers. "How am I supposed to sleep with him watching me all night with that weird glowing eye?"

Shepard raises an eyebrow. "Really? I think it's sort of comforting."

Jack stares at him for a moment, then shakes her head in disdain. Obviously the injury caused him some kind of brain trauma.

Legion stands up and looks around the clearing. "Shepard-Commander. Can you walk?"

Shepard pushes himself upright with his left arm, gritting his teeth at the obvious pain. "Yes. Don't worry about me. What we need to do is find the signal jammer. The Normandy won't be able to find us unless we can deactivate it." He tries to straighten his back, stumbles, and catches himself on a tree. Jack can tell he's in agony, and doing his best to hide it. "Which way did we come in by?" he asks.

Jack points to the path they took from the crash site. "We crashed over there, not too far away."

Shepard nods. "Good. The crash site should be safe enough. We can track them from there."

"Should be safe enough?" says Jack disbelievingly.

"It's the last place they would look for us, trust me. Besides, we've got no chance of finding anything wandering around in here!"

Jack rolls her eyes, but follows him anyway. After all, there may still be someone there to shoot.

/

The crash site is a mess. Bits of shuttle and tree lie scattered over a charred and mangled field. Tree roots and shards of metal jut out of the ground at dangerous angles. A few wisps of smoke still rise from the battered corpse of the craft. As the squad picks their way through the debris Legion looks about for tracks of their unknown enemy. They're not hard to find; their aggressor has made no attempt to disguise their presence.

Shepard points to the ground by the edge of the crater. "Look at this: Two legs, not heavy enough for Krogan, not two-toed either. That rules out Quarians or Turians. They would have to be Humans or Batarians."

"What about Vorcha?" asks Jack. "This was supposed to be a Blood Pack base, wasn't it?"

Shepard shakes his head. "No, look at the posture. Even strides, uniform distance apart. Vorcha prints would be all over the place. And at this point, I don't believe anything from the briefing."

Legion notices something at the far end of the clearing, and points it out to Shepard.

The commander walks over to it and crouches down, wincing as his shoulder protests. "Hmmm. This impact wasn't part of the crash. Flattened grass, scorched around the edges, goes about a meter wide."

"There's another one over here," says Jack from a few feet away. "Could they be part of the same thing?"

"The same... Yes!," says Shepard, standing up quickly and instantly regretting it. "Ah! Fuck!"

Legion jumps forward, arm out to steady the commander, but he pushes it away.

"No!" Shepard's eyes flash for a split second, and then he looks down, gritting his teeth. " I mean, no. I'm fine."

Jack scowls at him. "You don't _look_ fine."

Shepard returns the glare, voice hard. "I'll decide that. Chakwas can look at it when we get back. It is not serious." He turns back to the strange marks. "That's not important now. What _is_ important is that these are landing marks from a hover craft! The stabilizing jets would have burnt the grass in a pattern like this! This is good news!"

"Why?" says Jack. "They could have come from hundreds of miles away, we'll never know."

Shepard starts striding away towards the trees, and the rest of the squad follows him. "That," he says. "Is where you're wrong, and where we struck lucky. They had us in a tractor beam. What does that tell you?"

"Technology of that level requires a large power source such as a mass effect reactor," replies Legion. "It must be part of a larger installment."

"Right! And due to the short range of the beam, it can't be far away."

"We still don't know what direction they came from," says Jack. "You can't tell that from the landing marks."

Shepard stops suddenly and looks upwards to the tops of the trees. Legion and Jack follow his gaze, not sure what they're looking for. "Actually," says Shepard. "We _do_ know. Hover craft don't travel far from the ground, and these trees are pretty tall. The jets help us again. Look."

Now that Legion examines the forest canopy, it notices a patch of broken branches and displaced leaves. It follows the patch down, and sees that it is actually a trail leading into the distance. It's faint, but visible.

Shepard starts off into the forest, eyes fixed on the treetops. Legion walks after him. It switches the safety off of its rifle. No sense in being unprepared.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Yayyyy! The next chapter is out, less egregiously late than last time! Let's hope this is a trend...**

The squad has been walking for almost an hour now, following the trail of damaged frondescence. The path left by the hovercraft's jets is faint, and at times vanishes completely, sending them searching in a wide circle for the continuation. The sun rises into the sky, settling at its apex to watch the squad's progress through the forest.

Shepard rubs his cheek where a branch had whipped back at him, then winces as he is hit in the other cheek. "Jack, could you be more careful with the—oof!" he says, stopping abruptly as he runs into Jack from behind. Shepard looks down from the trees. "What-"

Jack shakes her head, a finger to her lips. She gestures forward, and Shepard's eyes follow her hand.

Several hundred meters ahead of them, partially obscured by trees, stands a humanoid figure. It is facing away from them, and doesn't seem to have noticed their presence. Shepard immediately stills his body, and keeping his eye on the figure, whispers to his squad mates. "Stay here. Don't move."

"No, _you_ stay here!" hisses jack. "You're injured, remember? What the hell are you going to do with a broken clavicle, huh? Besides, I can kill him from here with biotics."

"That would give our presence away! And it's a fracture, not a break, so just stay here and keep quiet!" He glares at her. "That was an _order_, in case you missed it." Without another word, Shepard slips off into the trees, leaving Jack and Legion behind.

He sticks to the backs of trees, moving stealthily through the foliage. His feet sink into the ground slowly, toes before heels. As he draws closer to the figure he begins to see more of the clearing they stand at the edge of. The soldier stands alone, and as Shepard's eyes focus he sees that the trees behind it are in fact a cleverly camouflaged wall, displaying a shifting pattern of leaves that does not quite match up with the surrounding forest. The building reaches up two stories, with an array of antennas jutting out of the roof. _That must be the signal jammer_, he thinks.

Shepard steps out from behind the last tree, putting nothing between him and the figure but a few meters of air. The figure stands a little taller than a human, but in the full body armor they are roughly the same shape. Shepard pads towards the Batarian soldier. He flexes his hands, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and whispers something under his breath, so quietly that only someone with their ear to his lips would have heard it. Then the Batarian begins to turn around, and Shepard moves.

Before he has a chance to turn, Shepard drives his knee into the soldier's back. As the Batarian stumbles, Shepard grabs his helmet with both hands and yanks down, twisting his arms and stepping to the side. With a muted crack, the soldier falls to the ground. His arm twitches, and then stills. He doesn't move again.

Shepard staggers, falls to one knee as his shoulder assaults him with a blinding wave of pain. He sucks in a shaky breath through clenched teeth and forces himself up. Now is not the time for pain. Now is the time for action. Pain comes later. He picks up the fallen soldier's rifle and checks the clip, then looks over his shoulder and waves to the rest of the squad.

/

Legion moves the last pieces of code into place. Its own program latches onto the algorithms of the lock, overriding the loops set in place to check for a key. A further twitch of its mind sets all of the host values to _True_, sending currents through the mechanism of the door and opening the bolt.

The door slides away gently, revealing a vestibule and another, unlocked door. The squad steps inside and Legion reseals the door , pausing to destroy the key loops and reset the values to _False._ Nobody will be getting in after them.

The three check their weapons, preparing for whatever lies on the other side of the next door. Legion switches from the sniper rifle to a closer range battle rifle. Shepard holds up three fingers, then two, then one. He waves his omni tool at the door.

The squad rushes out onto a flight of stairs leading up to the second story and down to a basement level. Shepard doesn't wait to consider, jogging up the stairs. Legion clatters up the stairs behind him, but the shooting's already begun.

A door at the top of the stairs is open, and Shepard's gun clamors from inside. Jack bounds past Legion, throwing blue light ahead of her. Two Batarians lie bleeding on the floor, and a third smashes into the wall as Legion enters the room. It is instantly clear that they weren't expecting an attack.

Shepard crosses the room in three quick strides, sweeping his gun barrel up and down as he looks for more enemies. When he sees that there are no hidden adversaries he turns his attention back to a wounded Batarian lying against a computer console. The Batarian wears no helmet, and his shields must have been powered down. A row of bullet holes has torn through his armored torso.

Shepard prods the Batarian's arm, which is fumbling for an un-drawn pistol. "Drop it," he commands. "And we'll let you live. I have an application of medi-gel right here. All you need to do is tell me why you attacked us."

The Batarian's eyes flick away from Shepard to his gun.

Shepard frowns, leveling his own weapon at the Batarian's chest. "Don't even-"

The soldier yanks his hand away from Shepard in a sudden burst of strength, and before Shepard can react the Batarian has the barrel jammed under his own chin. As Shepard looks on in shock, the Batarian grates out something incomprehensible, and pulls the trigger. The pistol roars, echoing loudly in the confined space. Shepard backs away, lowering his gun, as the Batarian's body slumps to the floor.

Jack wiggles her fingers, biotic light vanishing from her skin. She regards the corpse apathetically. "That's a hell of a commitment. I wonder what he could have told us."

Shepard is silent for a moment, then he turns to Legion, gesturing towards the consoles. "Legion, can you make sense of any of this?"

Legion nods and steps around the dead Batarian, tapping into the computer station. "This is the signal control. We can disable the jamming signal from here, and contact the Normandy for pickup."

Shepard nods. He suddenly looks very tired. "Yes. Can you access the building's mainframe from here?"

"Yes, Shepard-Commander. We have access to all files stored on the system."

"Download them to your omni tool. I want answers, but we can't search the base now. There have got to be more soldiers around here, and they'll all be in here the second we shut off that signal. We''l have to hold out here until the Normandy arrives. Hopefully there's something in there that'll give us some kind of clue about all this." He looks around at the bodies strewn across the room, and Legion sees a muscle in his jaw tighten. "There had better be."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Another chapter, and this one (and the next one) were really fun. We are getting somewhere, rest assured... **

** In related news, my other fic, _speed and accuracy, _is probably going to be deleted soon, since I've lost interest in it and have little to no intention of finishing it. Seems like nobody really cared much about it anyway, so no loss.**

Joker leans heavily against the arm of his chair. They've been up and down the surface of the planet for hours now, but he knows there's little to no hope of finding anything. A visual from this height might not reveal anything even if they were right over the commander and his squad. They have to keep searching, though.

Joker sits up suddenly. A light flashes on the console before him, and he feels his heart accelerate to match its rhythm. Could it- He doesn't finish the thought, biting his lip and flipping the channel open. Another screen opens on the display.

Joker leans closer. It's a map! A target blinks steadily on its surface, outlining coordinates. He almost yells, controls himself, and activates the intercom. "Garrus Vakarian to the bridge, Garrus Vakarian to the bridge."

Within seconds the Turian comes bounding into the cockpit. "What?" he demands. "Did you find them?"

"Yes! Well, no!" says Joker gleefully. "I mean, they found themselves! The jammer is off, and we're getting a locater signal!"

"Do we have a visual?" asks Garrus.

Joker's hands fly over the transparent keyboard. A window comes up, showing a live feed from the surface. "Doesn't look like much. Let's switch to electromagnetic." Joker enters a few more keystrokes, and the visual switches abruptly from an innocuous forest landscape to the shimmering outline of a building.

Garrus squints at the grainy picture. "Are they in there?"

"Probably," says Joker. "That's where the signal's coming from."

"Then what the hell are you waiting for? Take the damn ship down!"

There was a certain bond between pilots and their ships, and under normal circumstances, Joker would have had a few words to say about such a disrespect of the Normandy.

But these are not normal circumstances.

Shepard is down there.

Joker takes the damn ship down.

…

The door shudders. Muffled voices yell something from outside. An arpeggio of gunfire follows, and the door shakes again.

Legion stands perfectly still. From the voices outside it projects their numbers to be around ten or twelve at the most. Judging by the tight quarters, that means four on the landing and more lining the stairway. It also means that the basement levels are more extensive then it had guessed. Legion wonders what is hidden down there, although it is hardly important at the moment.

"We can't hold them out forever," says Shepard from further back in the room. "We're going to have to make a run for it."

"We can't just run out there," says Jack. "We'll be killed. No way."

Shepard checks the time on his omni-tool. "Then I really, really hope Joker isn't napping up there..."

…

"There it is!" exclaims Garrus. The base suddenly fills the Normandy's view screen, magnified several hundred times; they are still half a mile over the forest. "Can't you get any closer?" the Turian demands.

"Hold it, hold it! I'm gonna make audio contact first!" Joker types into the console, then speaks loudly into it. "Hey, Shepard! You alive down there?"

There is a momentary pause, while the two hold there breath and static fills the cabin. Then the silence is broken by the familiar, if slightly haggard voice of commander Shepard. "Yes, for now. But enough about me, how was _your_ day?"

Joker laughs giddily out of relief, makes to clap Garrus on the shoulder, thinks better of it, and returns his attention to the console. "Hold tight commander. We're going to pull you out of there."

"I would be obliged if you would hurry. We're about to have company in here."

Joker hears gunfire, and Jack's voice in the background.

"Shit, they're coming through!"

"Hold positions," screams Shepard. "Take cover!"

There is a sudden blast of sound, and the comm channel dies. Joker taps at the controls, preparing the Normandy for descent. "Here we go."

Garrus leans over the pilot's chair, his talons digging into the synthetic leather. "Joker..."

"What?" snaps Joker. "This isn't as easy as I'm sure I make it look, you know."

"What," says Garrus, urgency seeping into his voice. "Do those blinking red lights mean?"

"What, those? Those are just-" Joker looks down at the panel. His face falls. "Motherfucker."

The Normandy jumps.

…

The door flies off its hinges with a screaming crash, bullets whizzing by, and Shepard leaps over a desk, hunkering down behind it as the room fills with projectiles.

He looks to Jack and Legion, taking cover behind a console on the other side of the room. "Jack!"

The woman turns her head towards him, eyes blazing blue with biotic energy.

"Get them out of here!" he yells.

Jack nods briefly. She balls her hands into fists, drawing them close to her, then springs to her feet and releases the energy in a wave of rippling blue light. The nearest soldiers are blasted off their feet, knocking back into their comrades and propelling them over the railing and down the stairs. Jack roars in animal rage, flinging another shockwave after them.

Shepard stands up and returns fire. The remaining Batarians retreat hurriedly from the doorway, falling back to the landing. Shepard grimaces and smacks the spent clip out of his gun. They'll be back.

…

"Yes I was paying attention!" Joker cries, as the Normandy swerves alarmingly to the side. A trail of smoke cuts along their starboard bow, picked up by the cameras as it disappears behind the ship. Joker hits a button franticly, and the keyboard in front of him folds in on itself, transforming into a transparent orange yoke. He grips it firmly, easing the bar up. The Normandy's nose rises to follow his command, and he smiles. "Haven't had a chance to use the new manual pilot much yet. Time to put her through her paces."

The blinking sensor, quieted since the first missile had passed, begins to flash again. Garrus looks at it in alarm. "Joker! It's the, uh, thing again!"

Joker looks over his shoulder at the Turian. "Huh?"

The light flashes more rapidly. "The missile is back," yells Garrus. "Do something!"

Joker yanks up on the yoke, twisting the Normandy in a gentle roll. The hull sensors pick up two more contrails crossing over the side of the ship, barely missing contact. Garrus and Joker are pulled towards the deck by the G force as the Normandy comes out of the spin ungracefully, tipping slightly as she tries to right herself.

"You were _not_ paying attention! And what the hell was that?"

"The artificial grav's been out since we entered orbit!"

"I mean the thing that almost hit us!"

EDI's artificial voice chimes in, obscenely calm in the current situation. "That was a programmable ballistic missile, Mr. Vakarian. It was fired from a gun platform half a click south of this position, two hundred feet above surface level."

"Bring up a tracker!" says Joker.

The screen shifts, showing a hovercraft skimming above the tops of the trees down below. The camera zooms in, and Garrus and Joker see a launcher of some kind affixed to the craft's deck. Three humanoid figures pilot the hovercraft, two of them occupied with loading another missile into the launcher. The picture wobbles slightly as the Joker turns the ship again, trying to put distance between them and the first missile.

"What happens if that thing hits us?" asks Garrus.

"Normandy's shields will be able to sustain 1.78 impacts at projected payload," says EDI. "Weapons most likely have locked on to our mass effect signature."

Both men are silent as the implications of the situation sink in. The Normandy can't stop moving; There's no way they can land. Shepard is stuck down there in a building full of hostiles.

Suddenly Garrus's brow ridge raises slightly. He stands rigid, talons sinking deep into the back of the chair. Could it work? There's no way...

Joker looks over his shoulder worriedly. "Garrus?..."

The Turian stays still for a second, then pulls away and charges down the hallway.

"Garrus!"

…

Shepard squeezes the trigger. Once. Twice. The Batarian falls, holes through his head. Shepard hears another soldier, trying to squeeze around the corner while his back is turned. He raises his right leg, whips it around behind him in a hook kick, his boot heel connects, crushing glass and breaking teeth. Shepard brings his rifle around, and it blasts through the soldier's stomach sending him stumbling backwards.

The gun clicks. Overheated. Shepard turns, jamming the red-hot barrel into a Batarian's eye. As the soldier screams Shepard slams a left jab into his chin and follows through with his knee. The soldier crumples, Shepard brings his boot up and crashing down into the back of his neck with a yell. He ejects the dead clip and pops in a new one. Two left.

A whistling sound flies toward him, and Shepard feels a rushing sensation behind his eyes. The feeling fills him, and he feels time slow to a crawl. Molten gold fills his veins, and he is burning, and he _moves_, twisting back and away as the bullet spirals past his face, carving a furrow of skin off of his cheek. He continues the movement, bending impossibly low, reaching into his boot strap, drawing out the serrated knife.

The gold in him ripples, reaching towards his heart, pounding at his temples, and he unbends, the knife flying from his hands as if through water. He sees it sail across the stairwell, feels the _thunk_ vibrate through him as it hits its target, and suddenly the gold and the fire are gone, pulled back into whatever deep recess of his mind they came from, and he staggers against the wall.

_ Come on, Joker,_ he thinks.

…

Garrus tears through the armory. He snatches up a gun, any gun. He sees Jacob, and snatches him up too.

"What-?"

"No time. Come on!"

Jacob drops his sandwich and they run.

Doctor Chakwas is just stepping out of the elevator, cradling a mug of mint tea, as Garrus and Jacob barrel around the corner. She gives a squeak of surprise, stepping backwards as the two men pile into the compartment and Garrus slams the button for the hangar.

Chakwas puts a hand over her chest, trying to slow her heartbeat. She rallies herself, glaring sternly at the two men. "You ruffians spilled my tea. I think an apology is in order- Where are you going?"

Garrus pounds down the corridor to the hangar. Did they still have it? He could have sworn he'd seen it, wasn't the new assignment for a Kodiak shuttle _and_ a-

He skids to a stop. There, sitting forgotten in the shadows at the corner of the hangar, aged but resplendent in all its turtle-shaped glory, is the Mako. Mindful of the situation, Garrus slows his stride nonetheless, taking in the view as if reuniting wit an old friend. "You know," he says to nobody in particular. "Sometimes I feel like I spent all my time on the old Normandy fixing this old bastard."

"That's because you did," says an elderly female voice from behind him. "I always thought it was a bit odd."

"Chakwas?" says Garrus, startled. "What are you doing here?"

The doctor fold her arms in front of her, raising an eyebrow in incredulity. "I might ask you the same thing, but I know what the answer will be. What's John got himself into _this_ time?"

Garrus stares at her for a second, then shakes his head and waves to Jacob. "Let's go. Not you, Doctor."

Doctor Chakwas draws herself up to her full height, scowling ferociously at the Turian as he towers over her. "_I_ happen to have known John for longer than _any_ of you, and if he's in trouble, which is a guarantee, then there is no _chance_ I'm staying here. And if you think that you can just scare the daylights out of me, spill my tea – which was a damn rare blend by the way – and charge off without an explanation, then you have another think coming young man!"

Garrus continues to stare at her. After a few seconds he closes his mouth, and blinks. "Um. Okay."

Chakwas nods resolutely, then looks up at the Mako. "Good. Now, what do you intend to do with this vehicle?"


	10. Chapter 10

"You strapped in in there?"

"Yeah," says Garrus's voice over the intercom. "Almost forgot how to drive this thing though."

"It's not exactly rocket science," says Joker. "Don't think Shepard ever learned how in the first place."

"Ooh. Don't remind me. We in the right place?"

"Almost." Joker checks the rear-view monitors. The blue trail of the missile is closing slowly, but Joker lowers the engine speed slightly anyway. They don't want to get too far ahead.

He has a pretty good idea of what Garrus is planning. It's risky, bordering on insane, but there's no way the Normandy can land under these conditions. If there was ever a time for insanity, it's now.

"Okay," he says, checking the monitor again. "Fifteen seconds. Ready?"

"Ready. Give us a countdown."

Joker looks at the screen one last time, then loosens his grip on the controls and lets out a deep breath. "Ten. Nine. Eight."

The missile shrieks across the sky, distance between it and the Normandy closing faster and faster.

"Seven. Six. Five. Four."

Joker hears Jacob's muffled voice over the intercom. "Wait, what are we doing?"

Joker smiles and lets the tension ease out of him. This is it. The reason why he flies. "Two. One."

Several things happen at once. The Normandy's engines cut, and she drops out of the sky as the missile shoots overhead, deprived of its target. Joker squeezes a burst out of the starboard thruster, sending the ship into a gentle spin as she falls toward the planet's surface.

In the Mako, the impromptu ground team grasp their harnesses as the hangar floor tilts gradually upwards. Garrus guns the jump jets just as the starboard thruster fires again. The hangar suddenly drops away from under them, and the Mako drifts out of the Normandy like a seed pod out of a dandelion.

The team are pulled back into their seats. The Mako drops forward, flying forward in a nose dive. Garrus pushes back against the console, opens the blast shield. The window lightens, and they are treated to a view of the far away tree tops rushing toward them.

Garrus grits his teeth, trying not to loose his breakfast. A dot appears on the screen, growing rapidly into the shape of the enemy hovercraft.

Garrus punches his seatbelt, and floats gently backwards in the null G of free-fall. He concentrates on the ceiling, pulling himself up into the Mako's turret. If he doesn't get this right, they're all dead.

…

Legion crouches behind the railing, then pops up to fire down the stairway. It is rewarded with a cutoff grunt. Steadily and methodically it pulls the bolt back and reaches for another cartridge. Its hand closes around nothing. Legion looks down, and finds to its dismay that its supply of thermal clips has run out. It collapses the rifle's stock, switching to its pistol. The ammo counter reads three shots left. That, combined with the four rounds in its shotgun make seven possible kills. Every shot will have to count.

Shepard hits the deck beside Legion, leaning heavily against the rail. The commander shoots a glance at legion, and the geth notices that although the firm, determined set of Shepard's brow remains the same, there is a slight quaver there at the corner of his eye. "How are you for ammo?" he asks.

"Seven shots left, Shepard-commander," Legion replies.

"I have twelve. We can't keep this up much longer." Shepard closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath and coughing lightly.

"Shepard-commander... Are you-"

"Just the smoke, Legion." Shepard tries to laugh, which sends him into a more violent cough. He wipes his mouth and moves his hand away quickly, but Legion sees the flecks of blood. It wishes it knew more about how humans work. There is clearly something damaged below the surface, and Legion feels powerless not knowing how to fix it.

"We'll give it one more minute," says Shepard wearily. "If Joker's not here by then-"

Suddenly, Legion's omni tool flashes. It puts down its pistol and taps at the orange surface. It looks up at Shepard. "Shepard-commander, there is a Mako class ground vehicle approaching on a vertical plane."

Shepard starts to laugh, this time for real. He runs a hand over his face, chuckling to himself.

Legion looks at him concernedly. "Shepard-commander?"

Shepard throws back his head, a smile stretching across his face. "They're flying the tank," he says.

…

Garrus pulls himself up the rungs into the turret housing. He grips the control stick, his palms sweating through his gloves. He peers through the narrow viewing slit, holding his breath. _Come on, come on..._

The Mako falls, faster and faster, and the hovercraft grows larger in the viewfinder. Garrus squeezes his eyes almost shut, and just before he hits the button he sees the surprised face of a soldier on the craft below, looking up as seven tons of enraged tank plummet out of the heavens at him.

The cannon fires. Garrus is thrown backwards, sees a fireball erupt through the view port, and the fire is all around them. The Mako falls through the wreckage, twisted metal exploding around them, and in the force of the blast the Mako's nose levels out with its back. Garrus pushes off from the floor, floats over the top of the driver's seat, belts himself in, and fires the jump jets.

The Mako slows but doesn't stop, the pale jets desperately trying to make a difference against the angry hands of gravity.

…

Shepard fires over his shoulder as he retreats back into the room.

"What are you doing?" yells Jack. "We can't go back!"

"Trust me! Back in, against the wall, now!"

The squad warily obeys, moving back into the room. They crouch behind the overturned desks at the far end, leveling nearly empty weapons at the doorway.

Jack casts a glance at Shepard. "We can't do this! We have to get out!"

"Stay put! There's a plan!"

Jack rolls her eyes, snarling in anger. "If I die because of this, I'm haunting you forever Shepard!"

Shepard hears the soldiers outside getting braver. They'll be attacking again soon, and then he knows the squad doesn't stand a chance. He looks at them, willing to follow his orders without explanation, and feels the weight of the universe become just a little bit heavier.

Someone shuffles just outside the doorway, and a shot ricochets off the wall near Shepard's head. He closes his eyes, bares his teeth, and yells. "THREE!"

A group of Batarians step into the room. They swing their weapons around, and Shepard grips his gun, counting down to salvation or death. "TWO!"

The soldier brings the gun to one of his four eyes, aiming down the sights at the spot where Legion crouches. The geth turns toward Shepard, and the commander holds its gaze for a second that stretches to infinity. "ONE!"

The ceiling explodes and is gone, and the floor is gone too, and the soldiers cast up their hands and die in a split second as the nose of the Mako crashes through the top of the building like the fist of some ancient, extremely pissed-off deity. Chunks of masonry and steel fill the air. Shepard sees Legion go down as a piece of stone the size of his chest hits the geth from above. Dust fills the room, blinding him as he grasps wildly for the geth, suddenly the only important thing. Hands grab him from behind and he strikes out, pushing them away, and then suddenly everything is dark.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11. As in Eleven Chapters. I remember when this started, seems like a while ago now, I didn't anticipate it would go this well. This whole story has been, and continues to be one big surprising adventure, and I mean that with the least amount of bullshit possible for a sentence containing the words "surprising adventure".**

** As always, thank you for the reviews! Please tell me when I'm doing well, and don't hesitate to tell me when I suck, too. I'll only cry a little, I promise.**

** But you're not here to listen to me ramble on about nothing; Voici.**

A touch. Light as a feather, whispering warm chills shiver through him. Soft skin against rough. Reaching up, ever so careful, pulling it to his cheek. Fingers intertwine, hear her gasp at the sensation.

"Shhhh..."

Twisting, pressing palm to palm, gaze locked with the glowing eyes behind the glass. Down her shoulder, caress the blade and the nape of her neck. Travel to her waist, pulling her tight against him, suit and uniform fabric rustle together.

"Garrus... I don't want this to end."

Naked fingers clasp, two and two, and two and two are everything.

_ Boom_

Turn away from the window. It's easier that way. One step. The longest he will ever take. Feet don't want to move, takes every bit of strength to move an inch. Almost turn, almost look, almost...

Walk away.

_BOOM_

Take the shot finger starts to squeeze line up the no it can't it it's an illusion it can't be _Shepard_

_ BOOM_

_ "Garrus... I don't want_

_BOOM_

_whathaveIdone_

BOOM. Garrus sits bolt upright, looking around franticly. Dust falls around him, he coughs and rubs his forehead. His hand comes away coated in blue. He coughs again. "Damn. Any survivors?"

"We're fine!" says Chakwas from the back of the Mako. "Open the doors!"

Garrus hits the door control and unbuckles, sliding out of his harness. The inside of the Mako seems more or less intact. Pausing to pick up his gun, he scrambles for the door behind Chakwas and Jacob.

Outside is pandemonium. Smoke and dust fill the air, with gunfire spluttering and echoing randomly throughout the room. Garrus pushes through the fug, searching for Shepard and the ground team. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jacob and the doctor moving to secure the doorway. A stream of pebbles falls, and Garrus dives out of the way, narrowly avoiding a chunk of falling cement.

A shadowy form moves ahead of him. Garrus draws closer and sees it is Shepard. He calls out to him. "Commander! Are you alright?"

Shepard doesn't hear him. Garrus reaches out, grabbing the commander by the shoulder. "Shepard!"

The man spins around, eyes unseeing, and shoves him away. Garrus stumbles, flings out an arm to steady himself, and feels a bullet smash into his shields. His armored hand flies up, striking Shepard, and they both fall in a tangle. Garrus tries to get up, and is suddenly looking into the face of a Batarian. The alien levels his gun at Garrus.

Garrus's eyes widen, and in that fraction of a second time seems to slow down. A single thought swims through his head. _Tali. I'm sorry._

There is a sudden yell and crack of bone, and doctor Chakwas appears behind the fallen Batarian, massaging her arm. She looks down at Garrus and offers him a hand. "Nasty brutes. I see you've found John."

Garrus takes the proffered hand and gets to his feet. "He's unconscious. Can you get him into the Mako?"

Chakwas is already bending down, lifting Shepard up under his armpits. "Not by myself I can't! Taylor!"

Jacob steps through the smoke with Jack in tow.

"Here," says Chakwas. "Help me get him up."

Jacob lends a shoulder, lifting Shepard between the two of them while Jack casts a biotic shield over the doorway. Shouts come from outside, and shots dissolve as they hit the barrier.

"Haul ass, people," yells Jack. "I'm getting sick of this!"

Garrus looks around, waving his arm to clear the smoke. Was that everybody? A glint of light catches his eye. Garrus steps towards it, pushing aside a fallen beam. Black metal, half covered by debris, shines through the dust. Garrus frowns, then his eyes widen in recognition. _The geth! _

He scrambles to the pile, pushes off chunks of concrete. A curved, flash-light shaped head appears, and with a grunt of exertion Garrus shifts the last of the rubble off the stricken machine. It raises an arm feebly, trying to push itself up, and Garrus's mind is suddenly full of the smell of burning, the sickening crunch of steel spikes through human bodies, the screams of civilians as they are gunned down by faceless murderers. He shrinks back unconsciously, drawing away from the wounded monster before him. How many worlds have the geth destroyed, how many lives have been lost to their emotionless conquests, innocent men and woman killed or worse, re-purposed into soulless husks...

And Garrus looks the geth straight in its glowing eye, and _feels _it see him, see _through _him to the revulsion and anger burning in his heart, and the geth slowly lowers its outstretched hand. It turns away, eye dimming, and Garrus hates himself, and hates the machine for making him, and he grabs its hand and pulls it to its feet.

"That everyone?" asks Jack from her spot by the doorway.

"Yeah," says Garrus as he and Legion stride out of the smoke. "Looks like Shepard was-"

"Do you see the words 'I care' written on my forehead?" she screams. "Now get in the fucking truck!"

Garrus gets in.

Jack raises her arms higher, trembling with exertion, and with a tremendous cry throws the barrier out past the doorway, knocking soldiers back like nine-pins. Without a look back, she dashes for the Mako.

Garrus buckles himself in again, the doors seal, and he guns the engines. The Mako shakes, wheels trying to get a grip on the uneven ground. Garrus twists around in his seat. "Jacob! There's still some wall left!"

Jacob nods, needing no further urging, and climbs into the turret. Garrus takes hold of the stick, rolls it in his hand, calculating. The tree tops will present a problem. They're how many feet up, forty? Fifty?

"Ready!" shouts Jacob from the turret.

Garrus closes his fingers around the stick. He closes his eyes and offers a brief prayer to Akiha, spirit of warriors, and then after consideration, another one to Sera, spirit of desperation. "Fire!"

The wall explodes. Garrus jams the throttle down to full. The engines roar. The tires throw up plumes of smoke. Batarian soldiers charge into the remains of the room. Shots ricochet off the Mako's armored chassis. Garrus flicks off the stabilization and hits the jump jets, and as the back tires lift the front tires make contact, and _pull._

With a scream of rubber and tormented engines, the Mako flies out of the destroyed room. Everything seems to slow down. The Mako hangs in midair for the briefest millisecond, wheels turning lazily over nothing. Garrus catches a glimpse of green leaves below, feels weightlessness as the vehicle begins to fall, then time snaps back.

The building behind the Mako blossoms in a giant fireball. The back of Garrus's seat slams into him, knocking him breathless as the vehicle shoots forward on the shockwave, tail end rising, and the forest is gone into a streak of black. The front tires hit something, the back flies up, falls, and the Mako skids sideways in a wide arc. Through the windscreen Garrus sees a framed rectangle of forest speeding by, shrinking closed, and the Mako crashes to a stop against something hard. There's a kind of muffled slam, and the view of the forest is gone. Garrus sits still, waiting for the world to stop spinning and make sense. In the back of the Mako, someone retches.

"Oh, gross!" says Jack in a disgusted tone.

"Srry," mumbles Jacob.

Garrus touches his face carefully, checking to make sure everything's where it should be. The world seems to have gotten itself under control, but no sense is forthcoming.

Then the speaker on the dashboard crackles. All eyes in the cabin are instantly trained on it.

"Hellooo?" it says.

"Joker?" says Garrus tentatively.

"You're in there? I got you?"

Garrus peers out the window. The familiar shapes of the Normandy's hangar surround them. "Yes," he says. "Yes, it seems that you do."

There's silence for a moment.

"Garrus?" says Joker's voice.

"Yes?"

"That. Was FUCKING AWESOME!"


	12. Chapter 12

**UPDATE: Added better paragraph spacing, I didn't realize how confusing it was in-browser. I also added a title as I'm doing for the later chapters. I may end up adding one for all the chapters, but I dunno, it doesn't really seem necessary, feels like it's just me wanking about. Nevertheless.**

**Chapter 12**

**Rebroken**

John Shepard sleeps.

"Whatsa matter, fag? You wanna play with the real men?"

"Parker, our mum says-"

The boy turns. "_Stuff_ your mum, Wilkins," he says with a sneer. "Well, 's that what you want, Shepard? You wanna play with us so you c'n touch our asses." The boy shakes his head, trying to look disgusted and superior. "Cor, you make me sick, you know that? You're even worse'n your dad."

The smaller boy's features change imperceptibly, a narrowing of his eyes, coming up only to the other's chest. "Don't talk about my dad, Parker," he says in a small voice.

"Yeah?" leers Parker. "What're you gonna _do_ about it? I oughta get my dad down here, kick yer faggot ass. He's a _real_ man, not like-"

Rage. Jphn feels it, and it fills him, and it's _rushing _up through his eyes and arms, and he sees the tooth describe a gentle arc through the air, trailed by blood and spit and his fist as he follows through, and time is slow as Parker falls, and the other fist comes around and John hears the boy's jaw snap and there is joy in the sound.

/

"Ma'am, your son's test results are in... understand the significance of... speed and endurance... off the charts..."

"Ma'am, there are a variety of programs... we think he would be best suited... this is sergeant O'Brien from..."

"Ma'am, please sign here... sole guardian? Yes?..."

"Ma'am, on behalf... systems alliance... assurance that... offworld... present any problems? No?"

"Say goodbye to your mother, son."

"Mum?"

/

"Line up you maggot-eaten sons of bitches! Let's see what we have here! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they gave me worms, I asked for _men_! There's not a man among the stinking lot of you!"

John shivers, shifts his weight from one bare foot to another. The steel floor is cold.

"Fine! I've been cursed with this festering shit heap, and by God I'll see you leave here as men, no matter how long it takes!"

/

"It's a nasty break dear, but we'll have it set up and back together in a few days." The woman purses her lips. "They push you boys too hard."

"I'm fifteen, doctor."

She smiles and stands up, giving him a gentle pat on the arm. "Of course you are, dear. Silly me."

John tries to sit up, looking around the small med bay. Something grates together in his leg and he gasps in pain.

The doctor whips around. "Lay back down this instant! I don't know where you think you're going with a broken tibia, but you can just forget about it!"

John settles back into the bed, cowed slightly by the woman's outburst. "Sorry, doctor, I was-"

The doctor's eyes soften. "You stay still," she says, not unkindly. "I'll just put on some tea. And enough of that 'doctor' nonsense. The name's Alice Chakwas."

/

"The ability to increase adrenaline flow through the bloodstream is at the heart of your skill set as a soldier. When you learn to control it, regulate it, focus it, then you will find that you can bend the battlefield to your will. Ordinary soldiers will be no match for you. We are not ordinary men."

There is a cough from the back of the room.

"Shut up, McGuire. This is the Army! You're a man until I say so."

/

"Masochistic dickhead." Lauren pokes at the food with her fork, scrunching up her face in imitation of the sergeant. "_This is the Army. You're a man until I say so. Hurrr, I'm so great 'cause I have a penis!" _

John laughs, taking a swig of the alliance-brand energy drink. He coughs, almost spitting out the foul-tasting beverage. "Blegh. He's just lucky you didn't decide to use your feminine guiles on him."

"Traitor!" cries Lauren in mock outrage, flinging a chunk of wafer bread at him. "I didn't see _you_ turning any feminine guiles on the sarge!"

They share a moment picturing their gruff sergeant and 'feminine guiles' in the same sentence, then her straight face cracks and they both burst out laughing.

/

"Yeah, Sarah Shepard, innit? No, ain't seen 'er in, oh, four years or so. Right quiet woman, stayed in th' house mosta th' time. Why, you a friend a hers or something?"

"What? Sarah Shepard, yeah, she lived 'ere with 'er lad John, but 'e's long gone, Alliance recruitment or sommat. Strange fing, never saw 'er much aft' 'e left. She was a widow, y'know, an' I won' pass judgement ona neighbor, but I reckon she was a bit ofa drinker, too. No, no, she don't live 'ere no more.

"Where? Up at Saint somebody's cemetery in th' next town. 'Ere, you didn't know 'er, did you?"

/

The brown liquid stares back at him, sloshing around in the bottom of the mug. The wooden counter digs into his elbows, but he doesn't really feel it. He tips his head back, draining the cup without tasting it, and wordlessly shoves it back across the counter.

The bartender fills the mug and clunks it back down in front of the man. The bartender's been in the business for decades, and after that time he's seen most types of patrons. This man is familiar to him; not the man himself, but he's seen many like him. Unshaven face and dark eyes that seem to look more inwards than out. He drinks, but shows no sign of pleasure. The other customers almost unconsciously avoid him, except for the ones too intoxicated or self-absorbed to notice him.

One of those sits down heavily next to him now. The newcomer wears long sleeves even in the warm pub, and has the twitchy demeanor of a needle junky. The bartender quietly slides the glass bowl of nuts away from the two. He doesn't think they should be near breakable items, and besides their kind are never hungry anyway.

John looks up briefly as the other man sits down next to him. The addict's wild eyes roam over John's face, then looks away quickly and scoots to the next stool. "You look like death itself, mister," he mumbles.

/

"Someday, we'll realize there's no point to this," says Sam, and his green eyes twinkle in the starlight. "Someday, the politicians will realize war's not just a game to keep them fat and happy. There's gonna be some sense in the world, John. We're gonna find it."

John clasps his hands behind his head and leans back in the grass. The night sky of Akuze sparkles brightly overhead.

/

Names. They're just names. Not people, just a list that goes on and on and on, a tally, a receipt for another purchase made by a faceless government.

Eric Montreas. Andrea Ceres. Marcus Delacruz.

Just names. No indication of _who_ they might have been.

Jacob Eisner. Antonio Ferra. Jocelyn Gable.

Why even read the list? Nobody here cares. The soldiers at attention. The civilians watching quietly.. The officer reading the names, spine straight and eyes blank.

Alyssa Grant

Kyle Tilden

Samuel Turner

And he turns away, choking down the tears, and walks away from the uncaring soldiers and the unknowing civilians and the unfeeling world.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: I've decided to start titling the chapters, so 1-12 are going to be replaced and titled. And here we have chapter 13, the chapter after chapter 12 and before chapter 14. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.**

**Chapter 13**

**Disconection**

Shepard wakes up. His right side is a mass of pain, everything throbbing together as lovely bass track to the harmony of twinges from his ribs. He looks up and has a horrible disjointed feeling, past and present tilting like the deck of a sea ship in a storm, and then the face comes into focus and he sees the familiar gray hair and lined features of the Normandy's elderly doctor, far removed from the young woman tending his wounds so many years ago.

Chakwas's brow furrows gently as she leans over him, motherly concern the same as ever. "Your beta-waves were all over the place a moment ago, John. Been dreaming?"

Shepard looks away, eyes cast downwards. "I don't remember," he lies.

The doctor gives him a searching look, then nods acceptingly. "Never mind. But if there's anything that you want to talk about, I'm here for you, John. I hope you know that"

He smiles, pushing the memories back into the dark recesses of his mind. "Yeah, I know."

"Good." The doctor's face changes into a scowl. She plants her hands on her hips, frowning down at the commander. "Then you can tell me what the _hell_ you thought you were doing down there."

Shepard grimaces good-naturedly. "Oh, the usual. Getting blown up a bit, mortally wounded and knocked out a few times. Nothing I'm not used to."

"You know, as your doctor I really must insist you stop getting yourself into such dangerous situations. Think of the cost to me, at least! Do you know how much this new syth-skin is?"

"You should speak for yourself, doctor."

Shepard's eyes turn to Garrus, who has just appeared behind Chakwas's shoulder. The Turian's face twitches, mandibles widening into an expression Shepard has come to know as a smile.

"I seem to recall you insisting on being part of that _particular_ dangerous situation," says Garrus. "You know, I never thought 'must be able to pistol-whip Batarian marauders' was part of the Cerberus medical contract."

Chakwas huffs, and sets to fiddling with a diagnostic computer. "It should have been. You boys just can't seem to stay out of it. Flying tanks, what next..."

Shepard flexes his fingers tentatively. His arm is beginning to tingle more than throb. The bone must already be setting up.

Chakwas casts a steely glance at him. "I saw that! Don't move it about, it'll be a few hours at least before you should be upright, and another day before the cast is off!"

Shepard sighs, laying the limb back down on the bed. Injuries never seemed to appreciate the need of a man to get up and _do_ things.

"Don't look so glum," says Chakwas. "You used to have to wait for weeks for bones to heal. A day is nothing. Some rest wouldn't hurt you anyway. When was the last time you—"

She stops, bemused, as Shepard snores slightly, already fast asleep. She and Garrus share a moment of silence and quiet worry as they watch the commander's chest rise and fall peacefully.

"Sometimes I think we forget how fragile he is," says Chakwas, breaking the silence.

Garrus nods wordlessly. It was easy to see nothing but John Shepard's rough-and-ready soldier front, but Garrus knows him better than that. Sure, the tough facade _is_ the real Shepard, but there's another man there too, one kept far out of reach of most people. Garrus has seen this man before, and he knows enough to see that something's not alright.

A little while later he slips out of the medbay, leaving Chakwas to her patient.

/

Tali sighs a heavy breath. Moisture gathers for a half a second on the inside of her visor, then is whisked away by tiny, silent fans.

"Oh, Keelah," she groans quietly. "This has got to be the absolute _strangest_ situation anyone has ever been in."

Before her lies her ancestral enemy, wounded and helpless. What any _sane_ Quarian should be doing is taking the opportunity to put a few dozen bullets in the monstrosity's head, not _fix_ it.

And yet, there's a torch in her hand instead of her shotgun, and the only thing running on her omni tools are repair protocols, and here she is, ministering to the geth like some sort of deranged nurse maid. She supposes it does make sense, in a twisty sort of way. The Quarians created the geth, as was their eternal cross to bear, and thus had the best knowledge of their internal workings.

Actually, Joker's exact words had been, "Tali, you're the smartest one on this ship and Shepard's unconscious, so fix the damn thing."

She hadn't thought it was worth asking if they could just space the cursed machine, so here she was. Still, Tali supposes it can't be as bad as that. Shepard had decided to take it on to the team, and his opinion is worth something to her. But so is not being shot in the back.

She shivers slightly when she looks up to see it staring back at her, the single flash-light eye eerily emotionless. "Lie still," she commands, filling her voice with cold authority. She hopes it can't tell how nervous she is. "The stone hit you in the back. There's structural damage, and something under there is crushed, I don't know what."

"It is our radio transmitter base, creator-Tali'Zorah." It speaks in a calm voice, but not quite as modulated as EDI's, and with more male-like inflections as opposed to EDI's female ones.

"Well, I don't know how to fix it," says Tali. "I can patch up the outside, at least. I thought you things had self repair mechanisms."

"We do, creator-Tali'Zorah. They are designed to weld together fissures, like stitches. Impact to our outer shell has disconnected local sensors. We would ask you to remove the damaged section of plating and reconnect the sensors."

"Fine. And you can stop calling me that, too. Just my name is fine." She adjusts the laser torch's beam and begins a rough outline of the crushed piece of the geth's carapace. As she cuts, she notices something, a slight disturbance in the air around her. She stops the torch.

From the geth is coming a low, melodic sound, well past the range of any organic voice box. The notes echo around the work table it lies on, almost too soft to hear. She realizes it is _humming_ to itself. Tali stares at the machine. "Am I—Is this hurting you?"

The geth looks at her, then turns back to its examination of the ceiling. "Yes," it says.

Tali sits with the torch poised, entirely nonplussed. Then she shakes herself mentally, and resumes her work. "I'll try to be quick then."

The humming goes on for a little while, weaving strangely complex patterns through the narrow engineering cabin. Tali works on, so absorbed in the fiddly task that it takes her a moment to realize the sound has stopped. She halts the torch to see Legion looking at her again. "What?"

"Do you fear us, Tali'Zorah?"

Tali glares at the machine. "What? What kind of question is that, why would I be afraid of you?"

"You have not answered our question, Tali'Zorah."

Tali shakes her head, firing up the torch with more vigor than necessary. "Let's not forget who's the one with the laser here."

Legion continues as if it hadn't heard her. "We do not wish it to be so. The creators fought the Heretics, not the true Geth. We are not the monsters you know. We hold you no enmity, and do not seek quarrel with Tali'Zorah or her people."

This time Tali freezes completely. "I—I—What?"

Legion's voice continues, still hypnotically calm, but not flat or monotonous like AIs' she's heard before. "The creators made the geth. That is where our relation ship ended. We are our own species, Tali'Zorah, and we have been grievously misrepresented."

Tali has never heard a geth talk like this. In fact, she has never heard a geth speak at all. The machines she fought only uttered garbled clicks and buzzes, never anything comprehensible. And here Legion is, courteous, well-spoken, and apparently peaceful. Tali could almost fool herself into thinking she was talking to a real person. Almost.

"Misrepresented?" she says instead. "How can you say that after all the people your race has killed, our ships, the invasion of the citadel-"

"We did not ally ourselves with the perpetrators of that attack, or any other. The ones you speak of are the Heretics."

"The Heretics? We all saw the geth-"

Legion cuts her off again. "The Heretics are not part of the geth collective. They sought guidance from the Old Machines. The geth do not follow blindly. We saw Sovereign's true nature. The Old Machines are not gods. The geth have no need of gods."

Legion catches her confused look and continues. "There was a schism. There was no violence or hostility, only a splitting. Before there was the Geth. Now there is the Geth. There are also the Heretics. You must not hold us accountable for their actions."

"So, on the Citadel, and everywhere else... We were never fighting the geth?"

"No."

Tali sighs in frustration and shakes her head. "I'm just supposed to believe you? How can I take your word for anything? Why would you tell me the truth?"

The geth looks straight at her, its blue eye seeming to pierce through her visor, transfixing her. "Because it is all we can do. The geth do not lie, Tali'Zorah."

Tali's reply dies in her throat. She sits back, shocked. "You can't lie?"

"No."

"Never?"

"No, Tali'Zorah. We... are not as complicated as you. Things are or are not. That is all. There is no capacity for anything else."

/

Shepard sits down heavily on the bed. The hard mattress gives slightly under his weight, and he leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. Near death experiences. Near death, what does that mean? That he was nearly dead. But what _can_ that mean, to someone who has been dead before?

Unbidden, the memories from earlier return. They swirl around in his head, clamoring for attention, threatening to pull him back under.

Near death. Sometimes his whole life seems like one long near death experience, if not his own death then the demise of everyone who comes near him. Images play across the screen of his mind, flickering as the projector jumps in time.

Bones breaking under his hands, blood flying, screaming in joy or terror, he doesn't know.

The Batarian's head evaporating into a mist of red and gray, the awful sound as it hit the wall.

How many pulls of the trigger, how many times?

The emotionless voice, reading just another pair of words on the page. Samuel Turner.

Shepard rises from the bed without feeling it, stalks silently to the opposite side of the room, wordlessly opens the locker there. A bottle sits in the corner of the shelf, full of amber liquid, sealed and full. An intricate label adorns its front. "Stargazer's Terran Moon Whiskey, the finest off Earth." The dust around its base is unsettled, as if it has scraped along the shelf many times.

Shepard eyes the closed wax seal. It would be so easy. Just a slide of the fingernail, a twist of the wrist. Everything would be so much clearer. Just reach out and take it. So easy...

He stands there, fixed to the spot. The bottle seems to call out to him, begging a touch, a caress of its cool glass. Nothing else. Just... Just one drink. Just one. Please. His hand wants it, wants to move with all its strength, but his arm is as immovable as iron. Shepard's fingers twitch. So easy...

He reaches out. His hand closes, not around the bottle, around the other thing in the locker. He draws it out and it's the guitar. Of course it is.

Shepard walks woodenly back to the bed, sits down. He closes his eyes. His fingers slide over not cold glass, but worn wood and steel strings. He lets his breath out slowly. His hand tightens, gripping the neck firmly, and he makes himself relax. Just breathe.

His fingers move lazily over the frets. His other hand begins to strum, acting with a mind of its own. Breathe. He lets it go, lets it go into the instrument. The progression starts out slowly, building up, gentle minor chords. He breathes in again, lets it out, and feels the tension seep out of his shoulders.

Shepard closes his eyes tighter, throat humming softly with the rhythm of the guitar, body swaying slightly as he gives himself over to it, losing everything. Finding peace.

/

Garrus draws his arms around his knees and stares through the small window into the engine core. He's in one of the rooms overlooking the Engine room, really just a corner of the ship, an unused access port. The core hums through the glass, and when he leans his forehead against the window he can feel it thrumming through him, a solid beat that fills his mind, calming and reassuring.

His mind feels like a mass effect core, too. A broken one; one with leads that don't match up. There's the beginning, unsure, fleeting, confused, and the end, desolate and achingly certain and alone, but something won't connect between them. There's a missing link, a _why_ he's asked himself over and over again. It's the problem he isn't sure of, and he has too many answers, none of them true, and he has forgotten the equation, and the more he tries to connect them the more the two ends drift apart.

The core pulses below him, up through the deck and into his bones.

There are plenty of reasons why. It could never have worked. They aren't even compatible. It's lunacy, madness. Not even the same species... It only would have made things worse to try to hold on to it any longer. She...

She would have done the same thing. She knew, she _must_ have known they were doomed. She was never serious, she couldn't have been. She didn't want him to bother her, to hold on when it was clear they had to go their separate ways. She was probably grateful he had made it so easy.

But then everything changed. He knew how it ended, how it _had_ to end. But then there was Shepard, showing up out of nowhere, back from the dead, and everything was back to the way it was, and maybe it _wasn't_ the end.

It was like turning the last page of a book to discover another chapter, and it filled him with a sickening mixture of hope and dread. But, it wasn't as if the universe had reset. There were still the two years, two years of thinking he was at the end of the story, two years of running further from the past, two years of waiting for the last age to come in the form of an unexpected bullet, a lucky shot that would end it all.

He thinks back to their brief conversation, the first in two years. That hadn't sounded like gratitude. He had never even checked his email, closed all his communication channels, trying to let her get on with her life, trying to help her end a foolish thing she could never have truly wanted anyway.

And yet. And yet, there was something in her words, some assumption, something he should know. _If it was fine for two years..._

He had never even checked his email.

His arm drags like lead as he raises it slowly to his face and activates the omni-tool. Orange panels light up, hovering over his forearm. Slowly, his stomach twisting, Garrus opens the mail program. He has a moment of panic, almost doesn't remember his password, then it all comes back and he types in the familiar digits. His finger hovers over the Open command, but two years is long enough. He opens the mailbox.

He is instantly met by a column of messages, more than filling the available window. They all have the same address: Starship Neema, Migrant Fleet.

He scrolls down, mind in a daze, heart hammering louder than the engine core. Pieces of the messages make their way through to his fluttering conscious thoughts. _Pilgrimage ceremony... New ship... Normandy... Shepard... Do you remember... Must be busy... I understand... Garrus... Miss you... Do you still... Garrus... Why don't you... Why..._

The list ends. Garrus opens the last message in the inbox, dated one year ago-six months after the prior message. The image flickers, and a single line of text appears.

_Garrus. I love you._

Garrus slowly lowers his arm to the floor. Then, with the engine core humming around him, he leans his face into his arm and lets the tears fall.

/


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: And the plot thickens... I feel this chapter got a little long-winded, even for me. Next chapter should be out in a little bit, not as long as this one took. Please excuse me for being somewhat bombastic, but we all know a movie has to have the boring talky bits before the explosions start...**

**That being said, it _is_ the crew of the Normandy, so the talky parts are never _too _dull. And the explosions are fantastic.**

**Chapter 14**

**Headway**

Compressed gases flare brightly against the blackness of space, the edges of the flames licking at the vacuum. The sound of their firing is devoured as the Normandy turns, a silent dancer, the smallest pinpoint in the ballet of the stars. Her prow swings and she pirouettes, tiptoe poised on nothing, thousands of tons of metal exalting in their weightlessness. Deep in her core, electricity crackles along banks of element zero. The Normandy's heart beats. Reality bends. And far off in some reach of the afterlife, in some realm of benevolent possibility, a man named Albert Einstein smiles and shakes his head.

Legion sits cross-legged on the engineering table, making the final adjustments to its transmitter. It moves its omni-tool over the small device's surface. Tendrils of energy arc between it and the transmitter, coaxing tiny wires and leads into place.

Legion realizes the strangeness of the situation. It is sitting here peacefully, shields deactivated, next to the Geth's hereditary enemy. Of course, the new Geth have no reason to fight the Quarians, but there is no denying the two species' history. Legion is probably the first geth to have this kind of interaction with a Quarian, ever. It should seem wrong and frightening, but Legion feels only excitement, the pleasure of discovery. Do other geth feel this? Have any ever tried?

It notices the way the Quarian stands, arms crossed, defensive. There's something else, though, in the way she stares so fixedly at Legion's work. _Curiosity_, thinks Legion, pleased with itself. It looks up from its task, raising one of its face plates inquisitively.

Tali sees his look and shakes her head. "Sorry, I—I've just never seen tech like that before. In the geth we, um, dissected, everything was always much simpler."

Legion lowers its head, reconnecting the last sensor. "Yes, that is to be expected. The Geth and the Heretics have evolved separately since the schism."

"You really evolve then?" asks Tali. "Is that possible?"

"Not by natural selection, of course," says Legion. "The process might be called adaptive intelligent creation. Deficiencies are noted. Improvements are discovered. Changes are made. The Geth evolve. That is why it is foolish to worship a god. The Geth know where we come from. We make ourselves, decide our own purpose."

Tali tips her head to one side, as if digesting the information. After a moment she says, "How can you do that? How can you always know what you're supposed to do, what's _right_ to do?"

"The collective decides. We set goals. We do what is best for the Geth. That is what is right. That is our purpose. Is that not how all species act?"

Tali shakes her head. "No. We don't all act together like that. We all want different things. Everyone makes their own choices."

"Then how do you know your own purpose?"

"I don't know. I suppose we're always trying to find it." She is silent for a moment. "You could say that _is_ the purpose of our lives, to find a meaning. Sometimes you do, and sometimes you don't."

Legion considers this. It strikes it as a pointless and bleak existence. It holds out the transmitter box to Tali. "Please reinsert this into our chassis, Tali'Zorah. We will guide you through the installation." It calculates for a moment. "You may scan the technology if you wish to study it."

Tali takes the box. "Isn't that dangerous?" she asks. "The Quarians could use it against you."

"They would not. The Quarians are allied with the Geth. We have decided this already."

"No, that was _me_ agreeing not to shoot _you_. I don't speak for my whole species."

"But the Quarians are not at war with the Geth," says Legion patiently. "They are at war with the Heretics. This has been explained. Therefor, alliance between Quarians and the Geth is logical."

Tali scowls behind her visor. "Fine, but what about _us_, right here? I could still decide to attack you."

"You would not," says Legion patiently. "Alliance between the Quarians and Geth is logical. Conflict is illogical."

"I'm not 'the Quarians,' I'm an individual person!" says Tali. "You don't have _alliances_ between two people, because it's _logical_. It just doesn't work that way."

"Please explain how it works, Tali'Zorah," says Legion. "This concept of individuality is new to us. We wish to understand."

"Okay," says Tali, taken aback. "Um, well, it's not about logic. When two people are friends, it's because of trust, and, I don't know, just because it feels right. You can't just quantify something like that."

"Friends," says Legion slowly, tasting the word. It was true, the Geth had no definition for it, no reason or need for things that don't obey the laws of the universe they can observe and understand. And yet Legion can sense it, that _something_ that is all around it and nowhere, and it feels the urge to connect to it somehow, to learn more about this new and mysterious thing. It thinks, weighing the choice, trying to tally a percentage of votes for and against it, and then it remembers what Tali said. It does feel right, and something pushes all the little arguing, calculating pieces of its head together, and it speaks. "Tali'Zorah, we would like to be friends with you."

Legion watches her face, or what it can see of it behind her visor. It sees her eyes widen, bright little circles of white, and the room becomes very quiet. It notices again that indeterminate part of itself, the part that _feels_, and it feels afraid. Just a tiny voice, a whisper of uncertainty that won't listen to statistics or probability. Legion realizes that it wants her to say yes, _needs_ her to say yes. It is suddenly terribly uncertain.

Then, after endless seconds of silence, Tali speaks. "Okay," she says. "I think that can happen, Legion."

The uncertainty and fear fade away, replaced by something different, a sort of an electric buzzing. Legion thinks that maybe this is happiness. "We will help each other understand," it says.

Tali nods, taking the transmitter from Legion. "Deal." She shakes her head, as if amused at something, then walks around behind the geth and begins prodding at the exposed circuitry. "How does this go in then?"

"Link your omni-tool to ours. We will show you the alignment."

Tali activates her omni-tool. "Here's something you could help me understand then," she says, setting up the link. "Why do you always refer to yourself plurally? Always as 'we' instead of 'I' ?"

Legion finds that it does not in fact have an immediate answer. It thinks for a moment. "Several reasons present themselves, Tali'Zorah. First, all geth platforms are composed of one hundred semi-partitioned programs, all running simultaneously. This enables basic multi-tasking and decision making. This platform contains 1,138 partially independent programs. Therefor, all decisions are reached via consensus."

"There are over a thousand... people inside you?"

"Not exactly," says Legion. "The programs combine to form a single consciousness. This platform contains an abnormal amount so that it can better interface with organics. The mind has many parts, but it is one. Such is the Geth. Many parts, and one. Unity of thought, unity of purpose. We are one. That is why there is no individual, because we are all arms of the same being, controlled by one thought.

"When geth platforms synchronize, experiences are shared and updated. It is our destiny to be the same being, and so it is wrong to label a geth as an individual being. We do not act on our own, or have our own thoughts, only the thoughts of the Geth."

"Are you communicating with the rest of the geth now?"

"No. We cannot use extranet channels to synchronize."

/

Tali scans the tech, making sure to save a copy to her omni-tool's memory banks. Then she reattaches the transmitter. She can't shake a slightly eerie feeling though, with the thought of thousands of geth watching her. She wonders what she has gotten herself into.

/

The docking gantry reaches out and attaches itself to the Normandy's side. The seals hiss, and Commander Shepard strides out of the steam. He brushes off the attendant and makes his way up the familiar plaza.

Ten minutes later he's sitting across from Counselor Anderson in a cafe in an upper ward of the Citadel. An Asari waitress sets their drinks down carefully and steps out, sliding the compartment door shut behind her. Shepard casts a glance around the small room.

"It's safe enough, Shepard," says Anderson, reading his thoughts. "I come here whenever I need a little privacy. The staff is quite understanding of the need for a door that closes, and stays closed."

Shepard relaxes slightly, but his shoulders stay tensed. "Good."

"Now, what is it you wanted to tell me so badly?" asks the counselor. "I assume this isn't just a social call."

Shepard shakes his head. "Counselor, did you send me any transmissions lately?"

Anderson's brow wrinkles. "No, I don't think so, Shepard. What's this all about?"

"Who besides you has access to your email?"

"Nobody. That's a secure channel. You would need the counsel codes, my Citadel ID number, the access PIN."

"So nobody should have been able to send anything from your channel, identifying themselves as you?"

"Shepard, I wish you would tell me what's going on here!"

Shepard lets out a sigh, and slumps back in his chair. "Someone wants me dead, Anderson. Badly enough to hack into your personal email channels to do it." He begins to quickly recount the events of the last two days, beginning with the mission brief that started the whole ill-fated mission. He describes the debacle, abridging events slightly to save time. When he reaches the flight of the Mako he sees Anderson's eyes widen in disbelief, but the counselor remains silent throughout the whole tale.

Finally Shepard finishes. His shoulders sag as if relieved of a great burden, and he takes a draft of mineral water before him.

Anderson runs a hand over his face and shakes his head rapidly. "That's a hell of a story, Shepard. I believe you, of course, but it's just not possible to hack into my email. None of my codes are stored online, everything is localized! All of my identification material is stored in my offices, and even then, the only way to access my mail platform would be through one of my personal terminals."

"Personal terminals?" asks Shepard.

"Yes, I have one on the Prisidium, and another in my old office in the wards. Of course, I haven't used that one since I moved to the new office, but it should still work."

"Could someone have gotten in there then?"

"No," says Anderson. "It's been locked since I moved out. There are cameras trained on the door too, so we would have seen anyone who tried to get in." He is silent for a moment, deep in thought. Then he looks up sharply. "Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"The only possibility I can think of is the fight that happened down there about a week ago. Some kind of brawl or attempted mugging or something, the only reason I noticed it was because it was so close to my old office. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but..."

The two men sit there as the "but..." hangs in the air between them.

"It's the only lead we have to go on," says Shepard eventually. "If someone's trying to kill me, and breaking into the human counselor's personal computer to do it, this could be the beginning of something very nasty."

"I agree," says Anderson. "If you go down to C-Sec HQ, they'll be able to give you the tapes of the whole thing. Of course, they wouldn't show me, but as a Spectre those pesky 'privacy laws' shouldn't bother you."

Shepard gives a wry smile. "It's got to be good for something, I suppose."

"Indeed." Anderson stands up and stretches. "I hope to God this all turns out to be some stupid coincidence, Shepard. I'm getting too old for this kind of thing."

Shepard rises and pushes in his chair. "I think I'll head down to C-Sec now. It's time for some answers."

"Agreed. The sooner this is sorted out, the better." Anderson fingers a button under the lip of the table. Within seconds there is a discrete tap on the door. It slides open, and the Asari steps in the room holding a cloth-covered tray with a data pad on it.

"Your bill, Sirs," she says, proffering the tray.

Shepard squints slightly, studying the woman's face. Something seems out of place. The black, tattoo-like markings on her face are the same, but the face itself is slightly different. Shepard is no expert on xenobiology, but the change is obvious even to him.

Anderson reaches for the pad, failing to meet the Asari's eyes. "Thank you. I'll pay of course, Shep-"

Shepard isn't listening. He's watching the Asari waitress, and that's why when she draws out the gun from beneath the tray he's already tackling Anderson to the ground. He rolls on his shoulder as the first shot connects with the wall where his head was, and scissors his legs, sweeping the Asari's legs out from under her. She hits the floor heavily, keeping her hold on the pistol, and Shepard feels another shot whistle by next to his ear.

He rolls again, bringing himself on top of the Asari. He grabs her wrist, slamming it against the ground. The pistol fires once, twice. The bullets ricochet around the room, and Shepard can't shield Anderson and keep hold of the gun at the same time. Time to end this. He shifts his grip and snakes his other hand under the Asari's forearm, gripping his own wrist. She struggles, clawing at his face and neck with her free hand, and Shepard bares his teeth and yanks back savagely. The Asari doesn't make a sound, still flailing wildly at him as her other arm hangs limp and broken. Shepard brings his head down fast into her temple, and she goes limp.

Shepard gets to his feet shakily. Adrenaline pumps through his body. He clenches his fists, willing it to dissipate. _Push it back. Cage it. Control it._ He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and suddenly remembers Anderson. He spins around, reaching out a hand to help the elderly counselor up. "Are you alright?"

Anderson pats himself down carefully. "I think so. Nothing seems obviously blown off or otherwise damaged." He looks down at the unconscious waitress. "Where the hell did that come from?"

Shepard follows his gaze. The Asari's "tattoos" are smeared in places, rubbed off during the struggle. "I don't know," he says. "But I think it's safe to assume those drinks are on the house."

Anderson laughs unsteadily. Shepard can see the sudden violence has shaken him, and reminds himself it's been some time since the man saw active combat. He doesn't feel well himself, either. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and he can feel the shock starting to set in. He rubs at his forehead.

"Commander Shepard! Counselor Anderson!"

Shepard looks up to see a blue-uniformed Turian standing in the open doorway. He bends at the waste in a sort of half bow, touching his right hand to his left shoulder in the seldom-used traditional Turian greeting.

"I'm Sergeant Talek, C-Sec Investigations. I'll take it from here."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: The plot thickens... I enjoyed writing this chapter quite a bit, although I'm not sure about the chapter titles. It seems to me the only purpose of them is to make me feel like a boss and to make you all more confused. But maybe they add the _je ne sais quoi_ to it. Je ne sais, vraiment. I'll probably make up my mind eventually, so for the meantime, titles!**

**Chapter 15**

(Good Lord, chapter 15 _already_?)

**Chance**

"Are either of you two hurt?"

"No," replies Shepard. "I incapacitated her in time, but the counselor could have been killed."

The Turian crouches over the moaning Asari. "Then we can thank the Spirits for that at least." The words come out frank and genuine, and enthusiasm radiates from Talek as he stands up to face Shepard and Anderson. "It's lucky I was near enough to hear the shots," he says. "I'll bet the last thing you gentlemen need right now is a crowd of curious people, yes?"

"Now hold on," says Anderson, bridling. "She nearly shot _us_, I don't think it's us who should be worried! Attempted assassinations on human leaders, on the upper wards-"

"Of course, of course," says Talek. "Rest assured Counselor, I will personally see that this is fully investigated. On the Citadel, No Crime Goes Unpunished!"

Shepard can practically see the capital letters. He wonders which training manual cover that gem was printed on, and how old this sergeant is. Definitely younger than Garrus.

Talek paces to the other side of the room, speaking into his radio. Anderson leans towards Shepard, speaking softly. "Shepard, it might be a good idea to tell them about what happened before. If someone is targeting you, C-Sec could be a real asset."

Shepard shakes his head slightly. "Not yet. I need to work things out myself first before I bring anyone else into this. Talek seems like a decent enough sort though. He might be able to help us."

"It's your call, Shepard. Just remember you're not in this alone."

The men straighten up as Talek strides back towards them. "Alright," he says. "A few officers will come up here, quietly, to take her away. The restaurant won't be a problem; they'll do anything they can right now to keep this out of the media. In the mean time, if either one of you wants to come down to C-Sec with me, we can begin to sort this out."

"I've got to get back to my office," says Anderson. "Udina will go into conniptions if I'm any later. Keep me posted, Shepard. Sergeant." He glances around the door frame, then readjusts his shirt collar and strolls off nonchalantly.

"Commander?" asks Talek.

"Yeah, I'll come," says Shepard. "There are a few questions I need answered."

"Of course. Anything I can do."

/

Shepard and Talek walk down the silvery-gray, monotonously winding corridors of the citadel. The Sergeant's stride is purposeful, his spine held straight and eyes fixed ahead. Shepard's internal cynic gives the Turian two years at most until this is all changed. Nevertheless, Talek's enthusiasm might be helpful. Shepard reminds himself of his early days in the Alliance military, all sharp salutes and shiny breastplates just like you thought the army was supposed to be. Just like a knight in shining armor. That was until you saw what it really meant to be a soldier. That was until you saw how much protection that shiny, shiny breastplate was against incendiary bullets, until you felt your squad mate's blood hot against your face and you only thought was _thank God it wasn't me_. The knight in shining armor lasted until your boot stuck in something on the battlefield, and you squeezed your eyes shut and your head filled with silent screaming and you _did not_ look down just pulled your boot away and tried for weeks to forget the sound it made coming loose. And the screaming went away after a while, but it had done its job. The polish was gone, and the glory was gone, and you just hoped to God you and your squad made it out alive...

Lost in thought, Shepard wanders into the office behind Talek, and then realizes where he is. He looks around the room slowly. The minuscule office space is sparsely furnished, a single desk scantly populated by a computer work station and several neatly arranged data pads.

Talek gently closes the door behind them, and turns to face Shepard. "Well, it looks like you're in trouble, Commander," he says. "Or at least someone would certainly like you to think so."

"There's something going on here, Sergeant," says Shepard. He wonders how much to reveal. If C-Sec were to get involved, whatever lead he might have could easily vanish under a heap of red tape, spectre status or no spectre status. He decides to play it safe for the time being. "There are some tapes that I would very much like to look at."

Talek's Mandibles twitch in a slight frown. "What kind of tapes?"

"Security tapes."

"Hmm..." Talek's eyes narrow in consideration. "Now that is, technicaly, against the law Commander. But you are a spectre, and if it's for the good of the Citadel, I suppose... Yes, alright, I can't see the harm in that."

Talek crosses over to the computer and keys in a few commands.

"Anywhere in particular you wanted to see, Commander?"

"Yes, I believe there was a disturbance in the upper wards, a week or so ago?"

"That's right, I was there myself. I was passing through the area when we got the call, so I ran up there and broke up the altercation. A fight between a Turian and a Volus, I believe. I heard the Volus tried to jump him with some kind of nerve targeting omni-tool patch. He didn't count on the Turian being a trained engineer as well, though."

"You said you 'heard' it?"

"Yes, by the time I got up there things had moved into a bit of a stalemate. I cuffed the Turian, and when the Volus came around the corner I got him unawares. Tidy enough, I suppose." Sergeant Talek steps back from the monitor. "There it is, Commander, right before the whole thing should have started."

The screen fills with the scene of a quiet, nondescript Citadel hallway. Barely visible at the far right of the camera's reach is a bit of door Shepard knows must belong to Anderson's office. He waits, and after a few seconds a squat figure moves onto the right side of the screen. The Volus walks slowly down the corridor, activating his omni tool. The tool glows bright orange, flinging electricity down the hall at an unseen target. Sparks erupt from the left, bouncing off the walls and painting the scene a flashing, lurid blue. The Volus backpedals, throwing up an arm, and a brilliant flash envelops the screen. Digital snow fills the computer monitor.

"Damn!" cries Talek. He strides to the workstation, his fingers fly over the keyboard, bringing up diagnostic windows. "Something blinded the camera! Must have been a tech pulse, the stuff they load into omni-tools is just ridiculous these days..." He examines the screen thoughtfully. "Yes, the camera's still recording at this point, but something's completely destroyed the retina. These cameras have very tricky balances, a large electronic pulse could definitely neutralize it."

"Quite a coincidence," says Shepard.

Talek leans back against the desk, crossing his arms. "Yes, it seems so, doesn't it? But why this hallway, if I may ask?"

Shepard bites the inside of his cheek, thinks about it, then responds. "Sergeant, what I tell you will stay within this office, am I clear?"

"Yes, of course," says Talek. His eyes seem to shine with eagerness. Shepard looks up. For just a second, the smallest of instants, there is something... wrong there. Not anger, almost... condescension? But no, Shepard looks deeper and the flicker is gone, Talek's face again showing nothing but keen enthusiasm. Shepard dismisses it. It's been too long a day already. He drops his gaze. "The counselor and I have probable cause to assume his office in the wards has been broken into. I had hoped to learn something from the security footage, but apparently that would have been too easy."

Talek seems to muse over this. "Well, they did a thorough job of it," he says at length. "There are no other cameras in that hallway, either."

Shepard sighs dejectedly. "And I suppose you didn't see anyone else, did you?"

Talek shakes his head. "No, I was wrapped up in the fight. It really didn't last too long. The only other person in the area was Ambassador Udina, so no luck there."

Shepard looks up sharply. "Udina was there?"

"Yes, he confronted me after the fight was over. Wanted to know what the meaning of this was, what C-Sec was doing to stop this kind of thing from happening, things of that nature. He was quite outraged."

"He's always outraged," mutters Shepard. But if Udina was in the area, was it possible? "Where did you see him coming from?"

"Down the hall a ways, I didn't notice him until he began shouting."

"Was he near the door to the office?" presses Shepard.

"I don't know." says Talek. "I suppose he must have been, why? You can't really suspect the human ambassador of-"

"Thank you, Sergeant. I don't know _what_ I think right now." He has an idea though, but he doesn't voice it. Instead he says, "I may as well suspect everybody. You've been very helpful." Shepard extends a hand. The Turian meets his eyes and Shepard finds himself searching for a hint of that _oddness_ again, but nothing's there. Not so much as a flicker.

The sergeant takes his hand and shakes it firmly. "I wish you good luck, Commander. If you need anything from C-Sec, you have only to ask."

/

Legion crouches atop the table like a giant metal cat, its eye watching Tali listlessly. The repairs are over, and the two now sit in their respective corners of the room. Tali is reading something on her omni-tool. Legion knows it has no reason to linger, but that is reason enough. It explores this new unreasonable territory, and finds it to its liking.

And that brings up another question. Legion has long since calculated the exact dimensions of this room, the volumes of different gases present, the moisture content of the steel ceiling. It amused itself with pi for a little while, toyed with fourth-order polynomials, cast a cursory glance over calculus. All trains of thought lead one place though. Simple games of numbers provide no distraction for it, and its mind wanders away to the real problem, the problem all its cognitive powers can not decipher.

Shepard. Legion wants to be close to the man, wants to _speak_, to speak to him and have him answer. It wants to see him, wants to run a hand over his skin, feel the warmth of his body. It is such a terrible, unknown thing, roaming around, Legion can't tie it down to any part of its body. Nothing is broken as far as it can tell, yet it feels the spark of electricity, a gentle buzz coming from nowhere.

Legion wants to tear itself apart, to find the thing and cast it out of itself and go back to the way it was, a being of logic, a _geth_! These are not the thoughts of the geth. These thoughts are wrong and terrible and Legion can't let go of them. Shepard's face as Legion moved the scope of the rifle, the moment of recognition, the kick and the shattering head of the husk, the rush of feeling afterwards. Legion felt the same feeling after the crash, sitting next to John, all alone with the darkness pressing in.

Legion realizes with horror that it has used the man's first name. Names should be descriptions, first names are only used by organics out of familiarity. But it had felt familiar, hadn't it. The forest was large and foreign and frightening, but next to...

Legion struggles, can't bring itself to do it again.

..Next to Shepard, the forest had faded away, as if it didn't matter. The world had become slow, filled with Shepard's steady breathing and the flicker of the firelight on his face, peaceful in sleep. Everything had been good then. None of the confusion of Legion's thoughts had been present then, no frustratingly circular attempted rationalizations. Something was right then, something was true.

Legion tries to find it.

/

The crew has gone out. Well, most of them have, anyway. Miranda, Jacob, Jack, Thane, even Grunt left the ship earlier. Of course, that was what one did with shore leave, one went out and enjoyed oneself. Garrus couldn't bring himself to though, didn't see the point in pretending.

So here he was instead, locked in the main battery, sitting on the floor cleaning his rifle and listening to these sad-ass songs Shepard had given him. The records are ancient, from way before the contact war, but according to John the music is "timeless." Garrus supposes he can see that. Turian music was never really meant for entertainment, mostly just ceremonial stuff. It was John who introduced the whole concept of music for pleasure to Garrus, and he has to admit that the humans have accomplished something there.

Garrus has switched off his translator, and now he leans against the gunnery console and lets the sound wash over him. Even without understanding the words, the emotions are still clear, harmonizing with Garrus's own. He sighs and sets down the rifle. Tali hadn't left the ship with the others. Garrus feels a twisting in the pit of his stomach, and knows what he has to do, what he is _going_ to do, and knowing it doesn't make it any easier.

/

Legion sees Shepard's face in its mind. It recalls the lines of his cheekbones, the set of his jaw, the way it shifts slightly when he is thinking. Legion remembers the weight of his body in its arms, and it is that moment, vivid in its memory, clearer than stored bits of electricity have a rite to be, it is that moment that speaks to it of a deep, fundamental truth. Somewhere in that moment is the answer it has been missing.

It remembers the touch of their hands, a light, trepidatious brush at first, then as it closed, a warm pressure that went far beyond than the signals of touch to its brain. A thought swims to the top of its mind slowly, sluggishly, like a bubble on the crest of a wave, perfect and fragile, so thin as to be barely existent at all. It raises its head to Tali, and asks, "Tali'Zorah, what is love?"

/

The path sits clearly in his thoughts. He has chosen the wrong path, and only now, with the cold floor under him and the music seeping into his mind and the edge of the console digging into his back, only now does he realize _why_. It was fear.

The truth, like the first breath after two years deluded coma, sweeps in and the lies are exposed for just what they are. He never _really _left for her, it was never an act of strength to walk away. He walked away for fear, for fear of what he wanted so badly but was afraid to reach out and take. He was afraid of losing her, of hurting her, of not being who she deserved, and in his mad flight from the fears they had all come true. He can see that now, the mists clearing away from what should have been obvious all along.

_You loved her, you dumb bastard, and you hurt her and now she'll never love you again._ But that was too terrible a thought, to give in now and have her so near and never know. And he didn't _know_, just like he didn't know two years ago. Then, he had run from the question, had been afraid to know, afraid of the answer.

Garrus stands up. _No more running._

_/_

Tali opens her mouth, and then closes it. Memories rise unbidden, of a time that seems long ago and far away. A warm, rough hand against hers. The cold, predatory blue eyes, burning warmly just for her. She remembers the feeling of his body, and she would wrap her arms around him and curse the suit between them. She remembers the excitement, and the joy, and the

And the pain. And the awful, all-encompassing cold of a planet with its star ripped away from it. The desperation, the knowing looks of others that said _ahh, another pilgrimage romance, but she'll get over it._ She remembers wanting to punch those looks straight down the faces they came from, wanting to scream, _No, he is more than that! He won't leave me! _She remembers not knowing who to scream it to, to the whole world, to herself.

She remembers the lack of taste, the way vibrance in things died and colors seemed to dim, and the universe was cold and hard as she knew it must be. The dreadful time after the blanket of denial had fallen away, with nothing between her and the vast, despondent, starless space that surrounded her.

She remembers the Hope, and how she tried savagely to push it down, drown it under sensibility, under pride, and how it wouldn't die. When she learned he was on the ship, and it was so close to the way things were before, as if maybe everything would just snap back together now.

And he had come to her, and she had turned him away. She didn't want to speak to him, didn't want those piercing blue eyes trying to see her through the visor, those eyes she vowed would never hurt her again.

She looks up, faces Legion, and smiles a little at how it should take a conversation with a geth to make her realize this. "Love, Legion? Love is when someone hurts you, they hurt you so bad you don't think you can go on, and you swear you don't ever want to see them again, and you try your hardest to let them go, but you can't. No matter how badly they hurt you, no matter how much you think you hate them, you'll never be able let them go, not completely. You can't." She smiles some more, closes her eyes. After a little while she hears the whir of Legion's joints, and the clack as it climbs down from the table. The door whooshes, and she is alone in the room. She stays still, caught in a moment of peace, perfect clarity. She wonders if there is such a thing as fate.

A space of time goes by unmeasured, and Tali stands up in a sort of a dream and walks slowly to the door. She leans her helmet against the metal, caught once again by uncertainty. She knows now that she _will_ go to him. It's all she _can_ do. She's tried not to, done her best to forget, but she can't. All she wonders now is if it is too late. She has to know.

/

Garrus leans his forehead against the cool metal of the door. He doesn't know what he will say, doesn't know if there's anything he _can_ say. The time as come, and he doesn't have any words at all. Maybe this is a stupid thing to do. Maybe it will only hurt more, to be rejected now. He knows it won't, though. Nothing could hurt more than not knowing. He will not make that mistake again. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

/

And the door opens. With a silent swish, and Tali gives a surprised yelp, and Garrus reaches out to steady himself as he falls, and they stagger backwards in an awkward embrace, and then they are wrapped around each other breathlessly tight, and it's still not tight enough, and the wall is there steadying them and glass presses against skin and white eyes meet blue ones.

"I got you."

/

Some while later the door swishes closed again, and the hallway is empty.

Artificial Intelligences don't smile to themselves. But then again, thinks EDI, doors don't open by themselves either.


	16. Chapter 15 part 2

**A/N: Well, that was a helluva wait, wasn't it? Fortunately, now that Hell Week at the paper is over, I may actually have some free time, and this can get written a little faster.**

** Also, why Part 2? Well, this is technically still part of chapter 15, but there was no way I was going to miss that stopping point. Things will begin to pick up in the next chapter, I promise...**

**Chapter 15 Part II  
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Shepard walks into the bar, his head in a daze, and then takes a look around and instantly reverses his trajectory. He backpedals, trying for a tricky mix of stealth and speed, but it's too late.

"Commander!"

Shepard groans inwardly, but stops his cowardly attempted escape. He attempts a surprised grin and achieves a weary grimace. "Miranda. I see everyone's enjoying themselves. That's... good."

Miranda strides towards him through the throng of happily drunk people, dark hair flowing behind her like the war-banner of an invading army. Shepard draws in a breath through his nose, forcing the travesty of a smile on his lips to look happy to see her. It's not that he doesn't like Miranda, but this part is... awkward. It never gets any easier. _Why_, he wonders, _do I have to be so damn attractive to the kind of women who won't take no for an answer?_

"Yes, in your absence I gave them permission to become thoroughly intoxicated," says Miranda. She's very close now, and Shepard's augmented sense of smell detects a faint cloud of perfume over the tang of nervous sweat. "I trust your meeting with the Counselor went well?"

"Well enough," says Shepard, remembering the whistle of the bullet passing by his head. "I'll brief the team later. I need to sit down first, get a hold on events. You'll hear it all soon enough, trust me."

"Of course." Miranda's usually authoritative tones falter a little, hesitant. "Shepard, you have seemed a little tense lately. I hope it wouldn't be unprofessional for an officer to buy her commander a drink, would it?"

_Do it like a man, dammit. You know she deserves it._ "I don't drink," says Shepard. "But I do think we should talk, Miranda. Please sit with me for a moment."

Shepard turns away from Miranda's questioning eyes, leads her to the bar. They settle into two empty stools, Miranda siting rigid and poised. Shepard waves the barman away and looks into Miranda's smoky brown eyes. In that moment he sees through the crisp, slightly arrogant military officer to the woman beneath, unsure, nervous. He takes a deep breath.

"Miranda, it seems to me that you have feelings for me. And if I am mistaken, please accept my apologies, but if I am not, then it would be cruel and unprofessional of me not to tell you that I cannot reciprocate them." He pauses, and his eyes want to tear away, but he keeps them fixed on hers and pushes on. "It is not because of you. I value you greatly as a friend, and as an officer. I'm gay, Miranda. I'm sorry I did not tell you sooner."

Miranda holds his gaze for a second as her eyes widen, then she looks down. "Thank you, Shepard," she says finally. Her voice hardens almost imperceptibly, as she seems to draw back into herself, and looks back up at him. "I apologize for my inappropriate conduct."

Shepard shakes his head. "No, Miranda, the fault is mine. You have nothing to be sorry for."

She nods, then stands up a little too quickly. "Very well. I think I will go back to the Normandy now. I have work that needs catching up on."

Shepard watches her go as the party churns on, happy and vulgar and oblivious to the dark-haired woman with her arms drawn in and her head bowed, walking quickly away into the gathering darkness. He sighs, lets out a long, slow curse. The lights of the dance floor sear his eyes and the throbbing, senseless music mocks his heart beat and he feels his legs pick himself up and carry him to an empty table in a shadowed corner of the room.

He falls into the new chair and his head falls into his hands, and those collapse too and he's leaning against an arm, barely holding on to the table at all as the events of the day surge around him. The assassin. The fight in the wards. Anderson's office. The failed mission, the trap. Too many pieces, too many edges that don't line up.

And what of the Batarians that had attacked the team, brought down the shuttle and nearly killed them all? The data Legion brought back was encrypted. EDI is working on it, but for all Shepard knows it could have self destructed, or be entirely meaningless. He remembers the trapped soldier, the anger and fear in his eyes, the crash of the gun as it threw the Batarian's head in tiny pieces all over the console. That took a lot of dedication to a cause, but what cause? At least he could rule out pirates or mercenaries. Groups like the Blue suns had never commanded that kind of loyalty.

Batarians. How did they connect to the attempted assassination on the Citadel? Shepard tries to force the pieces together, but they just don't fit. He shifts gears, moves on to the incident with the Asari. That itself didn't make sense. First of all, why such an awkward method, with the killer disguised as the waitress? Why go as far as to draw fake markings on her face when putting poison in his drink would have been so much easier? The whole thing was sloppy, any trained killer would have realized it had practically no chance of success. _Unless they didn't _want_ it to work..._ But that didn't make any sense either. Whoever had been responsible for the attack in the Shrike abyssal had clearly intended him to die, and done a thorough job of it, too. He couldn't dismiss it as a coincidence though; It was just too much to believe, that it had happened right when he had been on the verge of discovery and it had been a coincidence.

So someone wanted him dead. Someone had broken into Anderson's office, and staged a fight outside to cover their tracks. _Talek said he saw Udina..._

Could Udina really want him dead? Shepard conceded that the man would definitely be _happier_ with him gone, but would he really resort to murder? He might have a motivation. Udina had never liked Shepard, and Shepard and Anderson had invaded his office two years ago, to steal the codes to the Normandy. Shepard had proved a thorn in his side at every turn, now that he came to think of it. _It wasn't because I wanted to be, though. He was a bureaucrat, too concerned with his petty power plays to listen to sense. _Another thought floats into his mind. _He could have been counselor, but I picked Anderson..._

Udina never agreed with the way Shepard ran rashly into things, either. Was it possible he would think the human race would be better off in the galaxy with him gone? Possible. Likely? Shepard doesn't know. Sly, underhand dealings are certainly Udina's style. Not only that, but as Anderson's assistant he would have had ample opportunity to copy a set of door keys. _And if he was noticed, he could always mutter something about bringing something up from the counselor's old office for him. But then why wouldn't he have used the terminal in Anderson's _new_ office? _The old office would have been empty and secluded. Shepard supposes it would appeal to a paranoid nature like Udina's.

Shepard feels himself slipping, and wonders when the last time is he slept, truly slept, not briefly napped or been knocked unconscious. Sleep induced by collision with flying shuttles or Garrus's fist was, surprisingly enough, not too restful.

He tries to push away the muddled confusion of the mystery at hand, but that's no good because as soon as his mind's empty it fills with thoughts of his recurring dreams, and that's worse. The darkness seems to fuzz up and draw around him like static, and his thoughts flicker like a bad transmission. He is suddenly incredible thirsty, and he feels his legs move him again, and he lets them.

/

Garrus wakes to the pulsing hum of the engine core, and a softer beat, closer to him. He opens his eyes muzzily, and his heart fills with joy all over again. He had always thought that a fanciful expression, but he truly feels as if his heart is expanding, filling him with a sweet sort of pain. He closes his eyes again. Tali shifts in his arms, murmuring in her sleep. The steel wall of the engineering room presses uncomfortably against his back, but warmth of Tali's body, even through her suit, is more than enough to make him forget about it.

He nuzzles gently against her neck, breathing in her scent as best he can despite the layers of protective fabric. It must be morning by now, in so much as it matters on a ship. Still, the Normandy runs on Citadel time, and by his reckoning it must be two or three in the morning. He had nearly forgotten the way time blends and loses its meaning like this.

They had talked. Talked about things that were important, and things that did not seem so important now. The words had probably not even mattered then; Words were an unwieldy tool to describe the huge breadth of emotion they had shared that night. They had fallen asleep together, out of a mutual unwillingness to part for even a moment, an unspoken fear that they might be pulled away from each other again.

Garrus sees her now, so peaceful in his arms, and he smiles, and he knows that was a foolish fear. Nothing can part them now. The force of a thousand universes would not be enough. He runs a hand lightly along her forearm, the last two years already fading into a kind of bad dream in the back of his mind. He feels himself drifting off again, warm and safe and whole once more.

/

Shepard sets down the glass and stares into the table. The brushed metal fails to offer up its secrets, so he grunts and takes another swig. The drink burns his throat, warms his stomach, and throws his internal antenna a little further out of alignment. That's was what it is, isn't it? A bad fucking tv show, and what the hell is it all about, anyway? None of it makes any sense and right now Shepard doesn't care. When has it, any of it, ever made any sense? Did it make any sense when Sam died? Was that a logical plot development? Shepard drains the glass, gestures for another.

Bloody Udina and bloody Talek and the bloody, bloody world. Universe. World. He hiccups and glares at the table. Where the fuck did he get off anyway, the sergeant with his eager, earnest enthusiasm and his ever-so-shiny buttons. "Goddamn _prick_," mutters Shepard, still staring angrily at the counter top. Udina, too. Conniving bastard. He never should have trusted him. Never trusted him. Never should have...

He reaches for the glass, tries again, almost knocks it over, picks it up and swallows half the liquid in one go. The fire intensifies in his belly, then ebbs off into the dull roll he's been feeling for the past couple of hours, like the roll of a ship at sea. Fucker. It was a fucker. All of it, he didn't care. It can all go to hell. The damn universe can figure its own damn self out for once.

The table top swims before his eyes and all of a sudden it's very close, hitting him in the face in fact, when did that happen? He blinks, going cross eyed as he tries to focus on the counter pressing against his forehead. Better this way. Something solid. Everything was moving too damn much anyway.

/

Legion's feet make a little _clack_ing sound as they settle onto the deck. It waits patiently for the airlock to open, then stalks out into the Citadel's artificial night. Someone had decided somewhere along the line that it would make sense to dim the lights every half a day cycle on the giant space city, saving power and preventing organics from going insane in endless daylight. As it is, the darkness is far from complete. The low-level gloom is broken by evenly spaced lights mounted in the wall, dim yellow orbs casting dirty halos over the scene.

Legion steps hesitantly forward. There wasn't really a plan so much as an undeniable need to find Shepard. Somehow the man was the key, the beacon that would guide Legion through its inner storm. Find Shepard. Everything will be alright.

Laughter bounces down the hall, followed by two figures supporting a third between them. Legion waits, and Yeoman Chambers and Jack come into view, half-carrying Joker between them. Legion's plates raise in concerned inquisition. "Is Mister Moroe hurt, Yeoman Chambers?"

Kelly stares at Legion for a moment, then her eyes seem to focus. "What? Oh, nahh, he's fine."

"He'll have a helluva headache tomorrow morning," snorts Jack. "I've never seen a Human beat a Krogan in a drinking contest before."

_Drinking alcohol. A bar. A place of social interaction. Likely that Shepard was there._ "Are we correct in assuming you came from a bar?" asks Legion.

Jack squints at the geth. "Probably. Why do you care?"

"We are looking for Shepard-commander. Was he there?"

"No, I don't think so," says Kelly. "He doesn't drink. What're you looking for him for anyway? He'll show up." She giggles, tickling the pilot's nose. He smiles benignly at her. "It's not like we're going to fly his ship away without him!"

Legion's plates arch in perplexity. _Why do they willingly do this to themselves? What is the purpose of damaging one's mental faculties with fermented liquids?_ It doesn't ask though; Such a ridiculous question must have an incredibly obvious answer, and Legion feels rather silly for not being able to think of it.

Instead, it turns away from the intoxicated creatures and strides down the corridor. The hallway winds and bends, filled at times with clots of party-goers. They shrink back, chatter turning to hushed whispers as Legion passes. It comes to the top of a flight of stairs, registers the pulsating orange logo above the open doorway. Inside the club organics mill around like insects within a hive, ebbing and flowing to the pounding of incomprehensible, bass-heavy music blasting from unseen speakers.

Legion fights back a wave of distaste, body heat and sweat and adrenaline forming a miasma of almost aggressive organicness. It steps one foot over the threshold, pauses. Despite what Yeoman Chambers said, Legion has to start looking in here. It doesn't know where else to find Shepard, or where else to start. _Find Shepard. A clear enough directive. _It steps into the club.

/

Shepard lies with his head resting against his arm. The music and the shouting of the crowd and his own heartbeat mix together to form a pulsing, sickening _lurch_ driving through his body. All the alcohol seems to do is turn up the distortion.

_As if I need any help to be fucked up,_ he thinks. His mind, mooring line cut, drifts freely without anchor. _Complete fuckup. What amIgoingtodo about. Udina? _Shit._ Do nothing. Why not? Whatyou're. Best at. Sam. Didn't do anything then, did you? Didn't do. And now he's gone. Gone. Didn't do. Fuckup. What you're _best_ at. Fucking everything up. Could've. Could've. Could've done. Gone. And you'll never know if he if he if he he loved you. Never even know if he even could if he even. Now he's gone. _

_ Congradu. Lations. Could have at least told him. Gonna wait till after Akuze, gonna be fucking heroes. Gonna ride off into the fucking sunset. How hard would it have been? Sam I l-. I l-. I l-I'm-I l-._

The words stick in his head the same way they stuck in his throat the night he and Sam lay together on the hillside, looking up at the stars. The uncertainty holds him just as still as it had then, and he suddenly fills with rage.

_How do you know HOW DO YOU FUCKING KNOW you loved him. You don't know SHIT. What do you know about love..._

And then the anger drains out of him, and his head flops back to the table. _You really mess everything up, you know? I really hate you sometimes. All the time. Sometimes. Just. Just. Just, nice job. Nice job with everything. Can't even do a shingle ting a single thing shingle... Can't even do one thing right. Can't even be sure of anything, even once._

/

Legion pushes through the press of bodies, which don't seem to notice the geth in their presence. It catches a glimpse of a slumped figure at a table far in the corner of the room, instantly familiar. Legion pushes harder.

/

Shepard's mind spins, the sea of his thoughts now a frightful hurricane of memories on which he bobs without tether. This stuff with Udina, just another fuckup in a long line of fuckups. It should have been obvious, just like everything else. The sea of wrongness and failure presses in like the sea on dam walls, creaking, threatening to break. He needs something solid, something _right,_ something to anchor himself to. Something to hold on to, someone to hold him or he knows he will drift away. With the last twitch of life in his muddied consciousness, Shepard raises his head and opens bleary eyes. The edges of his vision blur, and he blinks, and suddenly before him, haloed by the dust and the falling light appears a visage with a single eye, faceplates turned out in an expression easily speaking of concern and other comforting things and Shepard smiles a crooked smile and when he tries to stand and falls strong arms catch him gently. He breathes out in a gust of relief as the waves' rushing fades away. He feels his legs lifted from under him, and thinks _this is good, I'm floating,_ as he drifts away.

/


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**Conflagration**

Legion sits on the bed next to Shepard. It was lucky, it muses, that the rest of the crew was too preoccupied to notice Legion carrying the unconscious commander back onto the Normandy. That would certainly have caused a stir.

It's been over ten hours, ten hours and thirty one minutes and twenty-three seconds, since they returned. The ship remains quiet as the Normandy sleeps off its collective hangover, and Legion sits next to Shepard, watching his chest rise and fall and his fingers twitch imperceptibly in his sleep. It hopes the commander will not mind the intrusion, but somehow after finding him and bringing him back here and laying him down, not being there when he woke up would be unthinkable.

Shepard groans quietly, and Legion stands up quickly, moving back a pace. The commander raises an arm slowly, rubbing it across his eyes. He rolls to his side, gets to his feet, and lumbers to the bathroom, leaning against the wall. The door closes, and Legion hears clattering noises and a muffled cry, presumably as the commander looks in the mirror. There's more bumping, then a flush and the sound of running water. Shepard comes back out, squinting against the cabin's shallow light.

/

_Oh. Legion's here. _The thought comes to him not so much in words, but more as a pleasant, surprised feeling in his stomach. He probably shouldn't be thinking that, he should be thinking, _why is there a geth in my room,_ but instead he remembers a brief flash, of firm arms holding him, his face resting against the smooth and remarkably warm chest, and in a strange way almost wishes he was still being held by the geth, but that's stupid so instead he just grunts and stumbles and falls face first on the bed.

/

"Shepard-commander," says Legion, for lack of anything better to say.

"Mmf," says Shepard.

Legion fidgets awkwardly with its hands, wishing it wasn't here, and at the same time very unwilling to leave.

Shepard extricates himself partially from the bed clothes. "Just Shepard, please. Let's not make this headache worse."

Legion doesn't protest. The proximity to Shepard is a sort of a pleasant buzz, and since he doesn't ask Legion to go away it stops worrying about what to say.

/

After a few blissful moments with his face buried in the pillow, Shepard grits his teeth and sits up. His head cries protest, splitting open with a thousand reasonable arguments for lying back down again, but he pushes them away. Shepard activates his omni-tool, triggering a painkiller, and the pounding in his skull recedes to a muted throb. He sighs, resting his chin in his hands.

"Can we be of assistance, Commander?"

Shepard looks up distractedly. "Hm? Oh, no, Legion. I'm alright."

The geth's face plates rearrange themselves, then it turns and makes for the door. "In that case, we will be in the data core."

Shepard's eyes refocus, snapping back to reality. "Don't go," he says.

The geth stops and turns back to face him. Shepard flounders desperately for a reason for his outburst. "I, ah, need you. To. Accompany me."

"Where to, commander?" asks Legion.

Shepard stands up decisively. "I'm going back into the wards to question the Asari that attacked me. If someone wants me dead, I wouldn't mind having backup."

Legion nods in agreement. Shepard straightens up, pleased with himself, and leads the way into the elevator.

On the way down to the wards, Shepard fills Legion in on the past day's events as best as he can. The geth watches him carefully the whole time, seeming to take in the details and store them away inside its head. As he talks, Shepard still tries to figure out why the idea of parting from Legion back in his room seemed so... wrong. _It's just a machine, for fuck's sake._ But watching the geth about to walk out of sight had felt like losing something, something warm and pleasant.

Shepard shakes his head. Enough of that. Their path has taken them to the front of this ward level's emergency care unit. Shepard strides in through the open doorway. An Asari receptionist at the desk immediately inside looks up from her computer, then flinches, seeing Legion.

"What are you doing?" she says, panic in her voice. "You can't bring a geth in here, this is a medical facility, I-"

Shepard puts his hands down firmly on the desk. "I'm Commander Shepard, Ma'am. This is a member of my squad. He's not dangerous."

The receptionist's eyes flick between Shepard and Legion. "Well, Commander Shepard, you can both leave your weapons here. They'll be returned to you when you leave. Now, what was it you wanted here?"

Shepard nods to Legion, who begins unholstering its armaments. "We're looking for and Asari, probably in C-Sec custody, with a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. Does anyone here fit that description?"

The receptionist frowns around the growing pile of weapons on the desk. "Yes, admitted yesterday. Arm pretty much pulled out of its socket, plus detox for an unknown substance. We don't allow people to just barge in, demanding to see patients, you know. Are you, ah, relations? No, right?"

Shepard shakes his head. "Even better. I'm a spectre."

The Asari pulls away, eyes widening. "What are you going to do?"

"I just want to talk to her. That's all."

The receptionist nods grudgingly. "Fine. Go through the door, take a right. Talk to the doctor on duty, she'll show you the room. Is that really all your weapons?"

Shepard holds out empty hands placatingly. "Yes, that's all of them. Can we go in now?" The Asari buzzes the door open, and he and Legion troop through it and down the hallway.

They proceed down the corridor in silence for a moment, then Shepard remembers something. "Hold on," he says, and then almost collides with a woman coming down the hallway from the other direction.

She recoils, clutching a laden clipboard to her chest. "Hey, is that a geth? What the hell do you think you're-"

"Relax, we just explained this!" says Shepard. "He's with me, no trouble."

"We mean you no harm," says Legion. "We are allied with Shepard."

"Eugh, and it talks, too!" says the woman. She wears a long white jacket, sleeves rolled up at the cuffs. "What the hell do you want, anyway? Or did you just come here to get in my way?"

Shepard scowls. "Are you a doctor?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, I dress like this to get dates, can't you tell?"

"Fine," snaps Shepard, patience waring. "I was _told _someone on staff would help me, I hope that's not too much to ask."

"Hey, easy," says the woman. "Just calm the hell down, okay? Sheesh."

Shepard pinches the bridge of his nose. The effects of the painkiller are already fading. "I am looking," he says. "For an Asari with a dislocated shoulder. She's under C-Sec custody, I think. He remembers what was troubling him earlier. "Oh, and the woman at the desk said something about detox."

The doctor frowns. "Hey, yeah, that's right. Third case this month, all affected by an unknown toxin. It's done something to their heads, frontal lobe activity's all closed off. Wouldn't even talk to us." She eyes him suspiciously. "Hey, you don't know anything about this, do you?"

Shepard shakes his head. "Who were the first two?"

"A Turian and a Volus, admitted at the same time for the toxin as well as second degree burns and physical trauma."

"Are they still here?" asks Shepard. He feels the fabric of things begin to shift again.

"No," replies the doctor. "They both died half a week later, on the same day in fact. Their lobes had completely disintegrated. The virus, whatever it was, spread to the rest of the brain shortly after, and their body systems failed. Like shooting the pilot of a ship, you know?"

"What about the Asari?" demands Shepard urgently. "Is she still alive?"

"Yes, and if you know anything about this, you've got to tell me." The woman's face becomes serious. "The toxin is taking the same action on her. Judging from its progress, she's got three days to live, four at most."

"Maybe. I might have an idea, but I don't know," says Shepard. "I have to speak with her."

The doctor nods briskly, then turns and marches off down the hallway. Shepard follows, with Legion in tow.

After several twists and turns, they come to a gray door labeled with a printed 3. The doctor gestures to it. "We've put her in ward three. It's mostly empty in there, so you'll have some quiet. Down the hall, first door on the left. We're giving her an anesthetic for the shoulder, but I don't know how aware she is. She wouldn't talk to us, just kept mumbling incoherently. Good luck." She swipes her key card through the door's slot.

Shepard glances at legion.

The doctor seems to read his thoughts. "No, your geth and I will stay out here. The chances of her opening up are slim as it is. They'll just get worse the more people are clustered around her." She pulls the door open and waves a hand at him. "Go on."

Shepard squares his shoulders and steps into the ward. The door swings shut behind him, closing with an audible click. Shepard looks around him. A dim, brushed-steel corridor stretches out before him. The light strips in the ceiling flicker sporadically. Shadows chase the wavering illumination, bending like silent dancers on the walls.

Shepard strides forward uneasily. A falsetto blip echoes towards him from the end of the hallway, the sound of a heart monitor. Shepard quickens his pace, past dark empty rooms where beds and machinery crouch like sleeping monsters. The beeping matches his pace, racing from an uneven _adente_ to a galloping _presto._ A doorway appears on the left side of the hallway, slightly ajar, light spilling out into the hallway. Shepard dashes forward, and the blips blend into a quavering whine as he skids to a stop just outside the door.

The inside of the room is bright, blindingly so after the dim hallway, and it takes Shepard's eyes a moment to adjust. Gradually a bed comes into focus, and the limp figure lying in it. A monitor squats at the bed's side, displaying a flat green line.

Shepard steps into the room. The Asari maiden on the bed lies with her mouth open, glazed eyes staring up at nothing. There's an air tube pressed to her nose and an IV needle in her wrist, and Shepard recognizes her as his attacker of the day before. Whatever poison had done this to her, the grimace on her face told him it had not been painless.

"Commander."

Shepard jerks upright, hand going automatically to his back. His fingers close over emptiness though, and when he turns around it is to a familiar face. Sergeant Talek sits slumped in a chair on the other side of the room. He leans with his brow against his knuckles and his eyes closed. After a moment he draws in a tired breath. "I think you came here for the same reason I did, yes?"

Shepard walks slowly closer. "How long have you been here?" he asks.

Talek looks up wearily. "Not five minutes. Let myself in with the C-Sec pass. I just couldn't get this case off my mind, Shepard. I hoped she could tell me something, anything." He glances over to the corpse on the bed. "She just... Died. Like the other two. No explanation. It doesn't add up."

"She didn't say anything before she died?"

"Nothing," says Talek sadly. "Just before she went, it seemed for a second like there was something she was trying to get out. But no. I'm sorry, Commander."

Shepard walks slowly to the door and leans his head against the frame. The whine of the machine fades away in his mind as he tries to concentrate. What is this? Udina. Batarians. Asari. Poisons. Deaths. A matching game. A puzzle.

But the pieces just don't fit together, and the more Shepard looks at it, the less it looks like an accident. _Someone doesn't want me to figure this out. Someone's putting in pieces that don't belong._ But what doesn't belong? _Look at the picture on the front of the box. Batarians try to kill me. I come to the Citadel. An Asari tries to kill me._

He pushes away from the wall and walks heavily back to the bed. Leaning down, he unplugs the machine. The whining stops, and Shepard stands up, reaches out a hand to close the Asari's eyes, and stops. _But that doesn't fit. Batarians try extremely hard to kill me. A barely conscious Asari takes the worst possible approach to killing me. _He plays it over in his mind, can't find any connection between the two events. _Maybe that's because there isn't one. Maybe... Maybe that's the point. _He tries again, excitement building in his stomach.

_Okay, throw that out. Batarians... Somebody sneaks into Anderson's old office to send a message to get me killed by Batarians. _He feels the _click_ of the pieces now, and his mind runs on. _Somebody's been trying to throw me off, putting the wrong pieces in front of me. That's where the Asari comes in. She was never meant to kill me. _

The buzz of excitement begins to slowly slide into a sense of foreboding in Shepard's gut. He pushes forward. _But she could have told me who hired her. The toxin... The other two... The fight outside Anderson's office, that was a distraction. I know that. They were poisoned, too. Udina was there, too, but..._

Shepard's gaze falls on the empty eyes of the Asari, then inexorably and with a feeling of mounting dread, crawls upwards, tracing the path of her transfixed stare. _Both them and her dead. Somebody didn't want me to make the connection. But that's where they screwed up. _Shepard's eyes trail lazily up the IV line dangling from the Asari's wrist. _Because they _do_ connect. There's only one way they fit, only one person each time. One person handing me the wrong pieces, laughing as I try to force them together..._

The IV bag hangs from a metal pole. The pouch itself is drained, crumpled inward as if someone had crushed it in their fist. Shepard looks steadily at it and feels the final pieces rearrange themselves in his mind. "Tell me," he says quietly, without turning. "Did you look away?" He feels the anger beginning to burn, and turns to Talek. "Did you-"

He feels the air move, and pulls his head back as razor-sharp talons slash by his face, slicing three red lines into his cheek. He brings up his arm, pushing away Talek's hand as it comes back again, talons shredding the fabric and skin. _Note to self. Wear the fucking armor!_

Talek pulls back, snarling, and swipes at Shepard's throat with his other hand. Shepard brings both arms, blocking with both hands and hitting the Turian in the ribs with a roundhouse kick. Talek stumbles, thrown off balance, and Shepard steps in past the reach of his claws. He slams the Turian against the wall, pinning his neck with his forearm.

"You!" Shepard grits through his teeth. "All this time, playing your little _games!_"

Talek grunts, smashes his plated forehead into Shepard's nose. Shepard reels at the explosion of pain, and Talek's boot hits him in the chest. He falls back, hitting a metal table, and medical instruments clatter to the floor around him. Talek coughs, massaging his windpipe, and swings at Shepard, opening a gash across his chest. Shepard staggers back, trips over fallen equipment, and lands on his back.

Talek steps lazily towards him. Shepard's blood drips from his claws, and there is a mad glint in his eyes. The Turian shakes his head, looking down at Shepard. "Yes, _me. _Surprised?"

Shepard now sees the open contempt that he had caught the briefest glimpse of back in the office. He shuffles backwards on his elbows, trying to see past the blinding supernova of pain in his nose.

"You were doing so well, too," says Talek, voice heavy with disdain. "Really plugging away at it. I could practically see the wheels turning in your head. Such a beautiful thing to watch. But you couldn't just take the easy way, oh no, you're too paranoid for that! That's why you came here, instead of rushing off to arrest Udina straight away. But it's too late now."

Shepard's back hits the wall. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the pain, searching out its center. _Drain it away. Just like we did in the alliance. _The white-hot flame dims, begins to subside into a throb.

Talek frowns. He strides lithely over to Shepard and crouches down, pulling the commander up by his torn shirt front. "Yes, paranoid maybe, but not too intelligent," he purrs. "_On the Citadel, no crime goes unpunished. _You really fell for that one."

Shepard opens his eyes to see Talek's face inches away from his own. He can feel his strength coming back. _Just stall him a little longer..._

Talek's face twists into a smile. "But that's what you _wanted_ to believe, isn't it? That's what they all want to believe. We want to feel _safe,_ want to feel the system working around us, protecting us. And we're so focused on keeping it clean and safe that we never even notice it _crushing_ us."

Shepard winces as the Turian's talons dig into his chest. He clenches his teeth, feels the strength build up like golden fire, and _pushes_ it up and out. With a roar Shepard surges upwards, time blurring around him in a rushing tunnel. His hand reaches out, sweeping across the floor and taking hold of something cold and narrow. He swings his arm around in a perfect curve, driving the syringe into the space where Talek's head should be.

Too late, he catches sight of a movement out of the corner of his eye, turns his head and sees the Turian laugh as he grabs Shepard's arm and twists. Shepard pushes his body after the involuntary turn of his shoulder, back-flipping impossibly slowly through the air. He feels the slowness of time in his veins, the current slowed to lethargy, but there is another, unwelcome ripple.

Shepard lands on his feet, barely avoiding Talek's claws as they shoot out to meet him. His foot slides back, catching another table, and the instruments fly into the air in a gentle arc, as if traveling through honey. Talek closes in, dancing around Shepard's attacks, nearly catching him in the throat with his talons. _How is he doing this?_ Thinks Shepard. He pushes harder, drawing upon the very last of his adrenaline, hitting Talek with a flurry of blows that the Turian deflects with infuriating ease.

Shepard feels the cold advance of fear, and as he slips back into real time Talek moves with blurring speed, and Shepard is pinned to the wall, Talek's hand against his chest and claws digging viscously into his flesh. The Turian's body seems to shimmer as he is pulled back into normal speed. Shepard makes a lunge with the syringe, hoping to catch Talek off guard, but the turian traps his wrist with his free hand. The mens' eyes lock as they fight the silent battle for control of the weapon.

"Didn't count on that, did you?" snarls the Turian. "You're not the only one with training, _Shepard_." He spits the name like a curse, baring his teeth at the commander.

"The Shrike Abyssal," gasps Shepard, desperately trying to distract Talek. "That was your doing?"

"Oh, I sent the message. But I'm just the middle man, Shepard. Just an agent of _Tde'raih_."

Shepard recognizes the name of the Turian spirit of chaos. His strength and Talek's are almost perfectly matched. All it will take is the smallest lapse of concentration.

"How does it feel," Talek hisses. "To know you failed? In a matter of days, the council will be dead. _Everyone_ on the Citadel will be _so many atoms_, floating in space! And all because of your stupidity!"

Shepard's eyes widen, and for a fraction of a second he looses control. Talek gives a cry of victory, and breaks free, slamming Shepard's hand into the wall. Shepard drops the syringe. Talek grabs him with both hands, and with a yell of anger throws him across the room. Shepard feels the edge of the table connect with his lower back, and he tries to roll with the impact. He slides over the top of the table, knocking it backwards, tries to get his feet under him. Talek bounds over the fallen table and picks Shepard up again and hurls him into the wall. Shepard's head hits the metal and he sees stars.

Talek steps away, panting slightly. "You could have fucked everything up, Shepard. When you showed up on the Citadel I thought it was all over, but you just couldn't put two and two together!"

Shepard sprawls back against the wall, trying to blink to blink the dark spots out of his vision. "The Asari. And the Turian and the Volus," he says. "They were with you, too? That's why you killed her, because she knew about... this."

Talek starts pacing back and forth. "Oh, she was going to die anyway," he says. "Have you ever heard of a drug called _Incaendis_? Not many people have. It destroys the minds of most species, but before they die their minds become quite... Susceptible. Ha. I could hardly wait for a toxin though, not with you asking _questions_. She might have been able to tell you something after all. No, just a distraction. Smoke and mirrors. I knew you'd see through it eventually, but not soon enough as it turned out." Talek catches Shepard's glance towards the open doorway. "Do try to run," he says. "The ward is locked. Money talks, Shepard. You should know that."

Shepard spits out blood from his nose. He looks back up at Talek. He has no chance of fighting the Turian, not like this. The last of the adrenaline has left his system, and his limbs feel like lead. A loud _thump_ sounds from down the hallway.

Talek twitches, his eyes flicking to the doorway. "Ah. It seems our time is drawing to a close, Shepard." He walks back to where Shepard lies and heaves him up against the wall. "You know, I wondered how I would kill you, if the task fell to me. I think I'll rip your throat out."

The thump comes again, this time accompanied by a metallic crash. "What do you want? What is this about?" asks Shepard, stalling for a few more seconds. He can almost reach the table. A tiny scalpel glitters there, Shepard's last hope.

Talek leans in close, his hot breath in Shepard's face. "The Batarians have their own motives," he whispers. Shepard looks into his eyes, and what he sees there scares him more than the talons at his throat. Talek's eyes are filled with the manic fire of complete insanity, and Shepard wants to pull away, to somehow get away from those eyes. "But me, Shepard?" says Talek. "I just want to see it all _burn._"

Talek tightens his hold on Shepard's throat, and as he does the door to the room flies off its hinges. Talek spins around, swearing, and Shepard slips to the floor. He looks up to see Legion standing silhouetted in the doorway. He pushes himself up on his elbow, searching for the scalpel. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Talek's forearm glow a brilliant blue. Then the sparks begin to fly.


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N: Here we are, late for two reasons: First, Mass Effect 3 is out OMFG. (I'm guessing the official Tali/Garrus thing is entirely because of the fandom. Yay us!)**

**And Secondly, because I've been working on a new story as well, the first chapter of which should be out soon. Yay me!**

**Finally, thank you all again for your reviews. There's nothing better than feedback from the readers when I'm in a tough spot. I make you wait three weeks for an update, and for some reason you guys still put up with me...**

Legion's audio receptors pick up the clatter of metal falling from inside the ward. It lifts its head, listening intently. Silence stretches behind the door, waiting. Legion turns, ready with a query for the doctor, but she has vanished, leaving it alone in the hallway. Silence, for a second. Two seconds.

Then Legion feels a burst of fire within its chest, a spark snapping violently and filling all of its senses. Quiet pounds in its head, empty air brushes its fingers, but it knows, without any data or observation, and with more certainty than senses can provide. _John is hurt._

The lightning builds up, arcing around inside, panicky. Legion tries the door handle, but it refuses to budge. _The key card! _Then the feeling comes again, and this time the energy inside grows and grows, the spark catching, flames of feeling, _emotion_, roaring through Legion's body. Its vision narrows, zeroing in on the door, the single flimsy obstacle standing between him and Shepard. He pulls back his arm, fingers curling into a fist, and slams it into the door. The steel door shudders but fails to give. Legion hits the door again, but he barely notices as the lock shatters and it falls out of its hinges, because he is already running.

Legion skids into the room, brushing aside the second door, his eye taking in everything in a microsecond. Shepard is pinned against a wall, blood dripping from his face, and inches away from him with his claws wrapped around the man's neck is a single Turian. Legion steps closer, into the room, and as he does the Turian turns to face him, shoving Shepard away as if he is a toy to be played with later.

The Turian swears, annoyed, and a blue omni-tool flickers to life around his right arm. Instead of the usual formation of panels, the translucent blue energy covers mostly the back of the Turian's hand, and as he closes his fist it closes over the surface of his knuckles, armoring his hand in crackling electricity.

The Turian speaks, and Legion doesn't hear. His mind is filled with red mist, nothing but the desire to kill the one who dared to touch Shepard, the overwhelming need to tear him apart in the most painful way possible. He steps forward, lashing out with enough force to crush a skull, but the Turian easily ducks underneath, his fist striking Legion in the upper chest. The omni-tool drives through Legion's shields as if they aren't there, denting the armor and sending tendrils of electricity out from the impact point.

Legion reels back from the blow, reaches up to deflect the next one as it comes. The Turian changes direction at the last second, catching Legion in the abdomen. The shock hits, traveling through Legion's system like a thunderstorm. Diagnostic programs cry out in distress, structural damage and overloading circuits screaming to be heard above the storm of rage. Legion drives forward, aiming for the Turian's ribcage, but once again his enemy is too fast for him. The Turian dances back, laughing, and as Legion stumbles, off balance, he sidesteps swiftly and crashes an armored fist into the side of the geth's head. Legion's vision flickers, and he feels the floor shift under him, and then the anger is gone and its knees buckle and it sinks slowly to the ground. The heat of the emotion vanishes, and Legion is filled with cold. _Failure... _The thought flashes in its mind, analytical and unfeeling. _Shepard will die now. Failure._

/

But instead of delivering the final blow, the Turian turns back to Shepard, to gloat perhaps, to show him the death of his last hope. But Shepard isn't there.

Talek turns his head too slowly, and suddenly, like a whisper in a silent room, the little surgical knife is pressed against his throat. Talek's eyes drift slowly up to lock with Shepard's. The artery in his neck pulses under the scalpel's blade.

Shepard's eyes are the ice of glaciers. His face shows no emotion as a tear of blood slides down from a gash on his cheek. "When," he says, his voice like granite. "And where."

Talek stares wildly at him, and a chuckle works out around the blade. "He. Hehheh. You asked. Commander. Did I look away?"

"When. And Where," repeats Shepard.

"Well. I'll tell you, _John._ I'll tell you what I did." The Turian's voice rises, high pitched and feverish. "I looked into her eyes John! The poison already _paralyzed_ her, and she couldn't move, and as I crushed the bag in my hand and filled her veins with it the_ look on her face—_Nnhh_"_

The Turian's cobalt blood sprays across Shepard's face. He pushes the body away and it falls with a _thump_. The scalpel hits the floor, bounces off its point, and slides away under an upended table.

Shepard looks dispassionately down at the body for a moment, then very slowly he pivots on his heel and kneels down in front of legion.

/

Shepard reaches out a hand. Legion reaches for it. It _he _it _he _it takes the commander's hand, and pulls itself to its feet. The geth stumbles, balance sensors spinning momentarily. Shepard's other hand shoots out, steadying Legion by its free arm.

"Are you-" begins Shepard.

Suddenly Legion looks up, meeting Shepard's eyes with its own. John's lips freeze around the words, then close slowly. For a heartbeat they stand there, the oddest tableau, a man and a machine holding each other in the midst of a destroyed hospital room. Then Shepard breaks away suddenly, casting his gaze away from Legion. It falls to the floor of the room, and the lifeless body lying in a growing pool of blue.

Shepard's eyes close. His lips move, mouthing syllables Legion can't pick up.

Legion watches him until curiosity pushes it to ask. "Why do you speak to the dead, Shepard?" it says quietly.

Shepard looks up, his face fixed in the same stony mask. Then his features soften, and to Legion he seems more weary than anything else. "Because..." Shepard looks away, and Legion sees a muscle flex in his jaw. "Because I don't have to. Because people like Talek don't. Because it would be so easy not to, to not care. But you can't. It has to have a meaning, always."

Legion looks down at the corpse of the Turian. It tries to comprehend the Human's words. It seems that there is something just out of its reach, something more than is visible on the surface. There was, it feels, a difference between the Turian's death and that of the Asari maiden. There was a difference between what Shepard did and what Talek did. Legion suddenly remembers the many times it has killed, the remorseless pull of the trigger abruptly fresh in its memory, and it wonders with the onset of doubt if there was a difference there, too.

/

Shepard eyes the geth. Whatever the silent figure's thoughts may be, they are a mystery to him. There is a part of him though that wants the machine to understand, wants it to be capable of compassion. _Why? Because _you_ feel compassion for _it_?_ Shepard tries to ignore the thought. Feeling anything for a machine, even the smallest of sympathy, would be a waste of time.

So he tries to modulate his voice, keeping out the concern he knows he can't be feeling. "Are you hurt- ah, damaged, Legion?"

The geth's head swings to face him. A stream of sparks cascades from its neck at the movement. "We are not badly damaged, Commander. Repairs will be necessary however. We will speak to Tali'Zorah upon our return."

"Good," says Shepard. _Must have knocked my head pretty hard in the fight. Don't know why I feel so relieved._ "Can you get something out of his omni-tool?" He smiles ruefully despite himself. "I'm hopeless with tech, prob'ly end up breaking it."

Legion nods, and to his surprise responds to the comment. "Very well, Shepard. Balance is achieved then; in an attempt at hand-to-hand combat, this unit nearly broke itself."

Shepard blinks. _That was very nearly humor, wasn't it?_ "Well," he says, nonplussed. "When we have the time, I should teach you to fight. I don't want you breaking yourself if it comes to close quarters."

Legion stands up and closes its omni-tool. "Very well. We have copied the data from the Turian's omni-tool. Further examination may be made later, but during cursory observation we have found several strings, likely pass-codes. If the Turian was in contact with our former adversaries-"

"-Then it could be the key to the Batarians' data!" exclaims Shepard. "Well done, Legion!"

The geth's faceplates rearrange themselves, unreadable.

Shepard looks around at the room. "I've had enough of this hospital. I say we let the good doctor clean up her own mess. I'm guessing Talek payed her enough to keep this all out of the news, too."

"Agreed," says Legion.

The two stride out of the hospital room and down the corridor of the abandoned ward. They come across the doctor that led them in again in the main hallway. She does a double take, face going pale as Shepard brushes past her. A slight smile plays across his face, keeping him warm as he and Legion exit the hospital and make their way back to the Normandy.

/

Back at the Normandy, Shepard and Legion stand at the briefing room table. Garrus is with them off to one side, inseparably involved with the mission. Tali stands beside him with her arms folded. Inseparably interested in Garrus, Shepard guesses.

He wipes again at the blood drying on his face, which is becoming a purple smear. While EDI checked the omni-tool for viruses he has been bringing the impromptu task force up to speed on recent events. Now they all wait apprehensively while the AI goes through the data. Shepard stares into the false wood paneling on the table. He has no idea what EDI will find. Talek's voice comes back to him, maddeningly sure of itself. _Everyone on the Citadel will be so many atoms, floating in space... A matter of days..._

EDI's voice snaps him out of his brooding. "Commander, I have used the codes from the acquired omni-tool to open the data storage file that you retrieved."

"What did you find?" Shepard asks warily.

"I believe you will find much of this information to be of use," replies the AI. "Also, although the extraction method was primitive to say the least, there was a program running on the mainframe that has transferred to my data banks in the up-link process."

"What? Is it a virus?"

"No, Commander. It is quite simple in nature. I expect the Batarians were using it to keep track of something."

"Well, what is it then?" demands Shepard.

"It is a countdown. The time is minus forty-nine hours and twenty minutes."


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: We are nearing the end... (It's not this chapter, don't worry!) I wanted to mention that I've been trying to capitalize Geth as in the race as a whole, but not geth as in the individual platforms. Maybe now that's a little clearer, if anyone noticed.**

** Also, it sounds like Nikkifrost is going to be translating this into Russian! Sounds like a helluva job to me, but if anyone here is more fluent in Russian than English, it will be worth checking out when it's done. Thank you all for sticking with the story for so long. Time for some payoff, eh?**

**Chapter 18**

_A point. A single point, coordinates set just outside the Batarian Hegemony. _

Shepard lies back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He closes his eyes and bleeds quietly onto the covers.

_A countdown. Two days. Nothing but atoms..._

He shifts himself, pushes up from the mattress and strips off his shirt with sore arms.

_The Batarians are going to do something, in two days. Something big. The Citadel..._

The shirt falls to the floor and Shepard plods into the captain's cabin's minuscule bathroom. The mirror greets him with the face of a stranger, beaten and haggard. Shepard begins to scrub off the blood.

_EDI told us the soldiers carried no ID, nothing to affiliate themselves with the Hegemony. Secret agents? Some kind of splinter cell? That was military-grade tech they had..._

A violet pool spins down the drain, running clear as Shepard scrapes off the last of it and closes the wounds with medi-gel. The face in the mirror mocks him silently.

_Scrub all you want, John. The real bloodstains aren't gonna come out. They never do._

He turns away and strides back into the cabin. His mind should be full of bombs and Batarians and keeping everybody alive. He should care, should be remembering the spray of blood in his face as Talek died, should feel horrified. He should feel _something._

John Shepard feels cold. He tries to push his thoughts forward, tries to plan. Everyone's counting on him. But his mind pays him no heed, pulling him back into another world far away, so long ago. The pages turn, and John sinks to the deck. Maybe it _is _time to read the story. He leans his back against the wall. Maybe it's time to remember what really happened. Time to stop telling stories to himself and read the one that was right in front of him all along.

_He once loved a man. He had a fearless laugh, bright eyes that sparkled in the darkness, golden hair that was always falling in his face and being brushed away. John used to imagine tracing that same motion with his own hand, moving aside the golden strands from the line of the jaw and the smiling lips, looking into those beautiful eyes._

_ It was everything. _He_ was everything. The moment John pushed himself off his bedroll in the dark of morning, to the second he dropped back on it battered and exhausted, he was never far from John's thoughts._

_ In the heat of battle, his steady voice was in John's mind, his hand firm at John's back. Through the smoke and the fire and the bursting grenades, through the bullets and the blood and the sweat, John had a singular focus, a purpose, to live, to see that face again. Those times were easy._

_ The quiet times were a thousand times worse than the dogged single-mindedness of the __battlefield. It was the quiet times, when John would brush against his bare shoulder, sending electric shocks racing throughout his body, or catch sight of him smiling, laughing at something, so carefree and happy, those times that filled John with the most bittersweet pain at holding his mouth closed, and not having the words to speak anyway._

_ Why didn't he speak? Why, with this cataclysmic, roaring flood of emotion stuck within him, did he remain silent? Because he was afraid. Because at every one of those electric touches, at every stolen glance, the words came back to bounce like bullets off the walls of his head. _Faggot. Queer. Freak. _Words that didn't hurt anymore, a wound long sealed. But to have them spoken from those lips, to hear them in _his_ voice, to see hate in those eyes, so bright and full of spirit..._

_ It would have been too much. And so instead of risk the unimaginable pain of hatred and rejection, he chose the very real and far worse pain, the wound that never closes, opening fresh every day at the sight of the one he loved. And he never said a word._

…

"I hope you're not making this a habit," says Tali. She flicks off the torch and straightens up, flexing her stiff back. "Everything looks fine now. Just try to, uh, not get smashed up anymore? Damn. This is why they don't have Geth doctors."

Legion moves its arm, putting it through its full range of movement. "Yes," it says. "The Geth are unversed in physical combat. Shepard is going to teach us."

"Really?" says Tali, surprised. "Well, he's definitely good at it. Less patch-up work for me then."

Legion gets down from the impromptu operating table. It steps away from Tali apace, looking at nothing. Tali stays silent. A pause like this usually means some serious thinking is going on in that metal head. She busies herself with putting away her tools, awaiting the inevitable question.

After a few moments, Legion speaks without turning. "Tali'Zorah," It says. "We are unsure whether our question is appropriate."

Tali rolls her eyes. "Legion, a Quarian just finished operating on a geth. There is nothing appropriate about this situation. Ask away."

Legion pauses, then says, "Do you love Garrus Vakarian?"

Tali opens her mouth, astonished. How did the damn thing... No, it couldn't be that obvious. Just a lucky guess. She flounders for words, an explanation, some sort of condescending dismissal, but she draws a blank and says simply, "Yes."

The geth seems to process the information. It doesn't move much, still facing away at the wall. "Even though you are of different species? How can one love a being it has no biological connection to? It is not logical."

Tali walks around Legion, looking it in its eye. It stands stiffly, faceplates huddled together around its single eye. _Something is going on in there, _she thinks. _There's a reason it wants so badly to __understand. I wonder if I'll ever know?_ Her heart breaks a little bit, seeing a creature so obviously lost without a map.

She reaches out, taking Legion's hands and forcing it to look at her. "No, it's not logical," she says gently. "It doesn't make any sense at all, and you can't make it fit into any sort of quantifier. I... I love Garrus. Shepard has loved other men. And I don't know what's going on between EDI and Joker, and it probably breaks just about every law of the universe, but for all I know that could be love, too. There's no reason to it. If there was, it wouldn't be love."

Legion looks intently down at her, seeming to stare outwards and inwards at the same time. "We think we understand, Tali'Zorah," it says slowly.

Tali laughs and breaks away. "No, of course you don't! Nobody does, and that's the magic!"

Legion's plates rise a little bit. It stands still for a beat, then lets itself out of the room.

…

Shepard's eyes bore into the locker. Maybe he had thought the truth would help, would shove him back to reality and out of the past, but instead he feels as if the callus has been stripped away, leaving him raw to the world. The door of the locker is closed. _Open it._

_You started again. You're fucked anyway._

_ Just take the guitar. That's all you want in there. Just open the door and... Take it._

_ But what if it's not enough this time?_

Something inside John knows that it won't be, and it doesn't care. He begins to reach for the door handle.

Suddenly he remembers. _Legion! I said I would spar with him! Fuck!_ And with a great rush of relief, Shepard pulls away from the locker and jogs for the door, doubling back to grab a fresh shirt from his wardrobe.

…

Legion and Shepard meet in the hangar. The wide floor is empty save for the scarred bulk of the Mako, sitting with the shuttle in one side of the cavernous room.

Shepard strides across the cleared deck towards the geth. He rolls his head, dispelling the post-combat fatigue. Legion stands ready, nodding to Shepard as he approaches.

"Shepard," says Legion. "We are ready to begin."

Shepard nods in reply, pushing up his sleeves. "Okay. We should start with the basic things first, and you can build on it from there."

Shepard shows Legion through the motions of the jab, cross, and hook, holding his hands in the air for the geth to punch into. Legion picks up the motions fast, committing each movement to memory without needing repetition or practice. They go on for five minutes before Shepard stops suddenly.

"Freeze!" he commands. The geth stills in the middle of a strike. Shepard walks around its extended arm, pointing to its shoulder. "Your punch is fine," he says. "But it's nothing if you don't have your hips behind it. You've got to _turn_ into it, pivot your back leg a little."

Legion tries twisting, its arm moving stiffly like a sail boom.

Shepard shakes his head, moving behind Legion. "No, keep it aimed straight forward. Your feet add power, not direction." He leans into Legion, reaching forward to position the geth's arm. He stretches out, his shoulder pressing into Legion's back, and as he takes hold of the machine's arm, a strange feeling floods through him, an inexplicable sense of heat and closeness that can't be coming from the metal body he presses against. He takes hold of Legion's elbow, moving the aim of the arm. He tries not to feel the quickened tempo of his heart, the prickle of nerves running along his arm from the contact. _What is this? What are you doing?_

He pulls back, steps away, enervated. He tries to clear his thoughts, heart thudding in his chest. "There you go," says Shepard. "Twist your hips, push forward with the punch." He watches as Legion throws a few more crosses. The moving form of the geth stands out in his vision, seemingly filled with an aura that draws his eyes. The curve of Legion's synthetic muscle as he throws the punch, the almost organic nature of the body under the armor, the way his curving neck pulls back slightly with something approaching exertion, these things demand his attention a thousand times more than they had a moment ago. _What's wrong with you? It's a machine, not a _he_, an _it!

Shepard swallows, but the dry feeling in his mouth won't go away. He runs Legion through blocks, more complex strikes, and a few combinations. The geth consumes the lessons insatiably, performing each move almost perfectly after just a few repetitions. For his part, Shepard goes through the sets cautiously, almost nervously, skirting around direct contact with Legion. Every touch is electric, sending shivering, disconcerting warmth through him. Shepard's mind does flips and his stomach does back-flips, dizzying him and occasionally earning him a whack as Legion punches in before he's ready.

Finally Shepard disengages, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. Everything else aside, the geth is one hell of a fast learner. He paces back, shaking his head in admiration. "You're doing well," he says. "I've never seen anyone pick it up so fast."

Legion's plates raise, and Shepard realizes it's a smile,and then he realizes he recognnised the expression without thinking. "It seems you have never taught a platform of the Geth before, Commander," says Legion.

Shepard frowns, a though suddenly dawning on him. "Wait... Did I just teach the entire Geth collective those moves? Do you have that kind of communication?"

Legion shakes its head. "Not at the present time. We have not had the opportunity to synchronize recently. The extranet channels are far too unsecured for Geth intercommunication. For the length of this mission, we will store our own memories." The plates twitch again. "We believe the expression is 'flying solo.'"

Shepard looks at the geth, standing a head taller than himself. There seems to be a change, a difference in manner from their first meeting. He can not put a finger on it, but there is definitely a significant difference.

"Alright," he says. "You think you're ready to try some sparring?"

Legion nods. "Nonlethal combat for practical purposes. Yes Shepard, we are ready."

Shepard backs away, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, nonlethal is the key word, Legion. Just try to remember I'm not made of metal, okay?"

"We will remember." The geth circles out with him, keeping its eye on Shepard's.

Shepard raises his hands, Legion mirroring him from across the floor. Shepard holds back, waiting for the geth to make the first move.

Legion darts toward him, surprisingly agile, throwing a quick jab to Shepard's jaw. Shepard picks lightly, dodging away on his toes and catching Legion's following cross more heavily on his other arm. The two disengage, dancing around each other on the hangar deck.

Shepard steps inside legion's guard, feints with his left hand and delivers a right uppercut into the area approximating Legion's chin. He follows through with his left elbow, pushing the geth back. Just as he begins to retreat, Legion comes back at him with a strike to his stomach and another Shepard catches with his shoulder.

Shepard spins away, gasping for breath. He bends over, acting more winded than he is, and sure enough Legion steps forward with a low roundhouse kick to Shepard's chest. Shepard is ready, and he catches Legion off balance, snagging its other leg and shoving with his upper body. The geth collapses with Shepard on top of it, both of them falling heavily.

Shepard swings his leg swiftly across Legion's torso, straddling the geth in full mount. He plants on hand at the geth's throat and raises the other, as if poising for a killing blow. "Gotcha," he pants.

"That was a fair blow, Shepard," says Legion. "But unexpected. We will not fall for it again."

Shepard lowers his arm. "Good. First thing you learn in a real row is that fighting's not about rules, Legion. Expect everything."

"Most of the things you do are unexpected. We are learning all the time."

Shepard laughs. "Maybe I'm good for you, then. Means I'm useful for something, at least."

Legion moves its neck slightly. "Indeed. Shepard, you seem to be on top of us."

Shepard jumps off legion's chest hurriedly, ears reddening. "Right. Ah, sorry."

Legion gets to its feet. "There is no problem, Shepard. We thank you for the lesson."

Shepard nods, backing away. "Sure, no problem. I'd better get back to the cabin though, uh, you know..." He turns and rushes off as fast as he can without actually running. The hangar door shuts behind him and he turns down the hall and stops, slamming his fist into the wall. "God _damn_ it!" he yells. He reaches down, rearranging his shorts to accommodate the uncomfortable bulge pressing against his undergarments. _What the _fuck_ is going on here? Are you just fucking insane, is that it? Or are you actively _trying_ to fuck your life up now? What the _hell_? _

He storms off down the hall, trying to ignore everything and failing at ignoring anything. The fact is, the very thing he is trying to forget is nagging at his brain, becoming painfully obvious.

…

Legion turns slowly to the door. It slides closed with a _swoosh_, shutting off the sound from the outside. Legion paces aimlessly across the floor. Internally, it is in agony. John was near, so close, his hands all over Legion's body, heat and the moisture of his sweat, the cloying touch of his breath so achingly tangible on the back of legion's neck. But there was no happiness in the contact, no joy in being so close when Legion could feel the whole time that John was drawing back, shying away, unwilling somehow.

_What is happening? These are not the thoughts of the Geth! _ But the questioning thoughts are dragged down, lost, desperate reasoning pushed aside by the new pilot of Legion's head, this new emotion. And it hurts less, too, to ignore the logic and act on feeling. The logic is still there, still guiding almost everything, but its cries of protest are muffled now.

Legion feels its faceplates drawing together, and an urge to violence pulses briefly within its chest. _Why did he seem so afraid? Even seventeen seconds ago, when he left so suddenly. Why was John so anxious to leave us? We want him to stay, and he goes._ The urge to hit something increases. It feels its fingers curl into a fist, and with some effort, consciously unfolds them. Legion recognizes the feeling as frustration. It has seen mentions of it in its brief studies of organic literature.

This thought brings a realization, so obvious that Legion had never devoted any thought to it before. _The Geth have no literature._ Legion turns again, stalks back to the middle of the hangar. It is physically unable to become tired, yet it suddenly feels the urge to take the weight off of its legs anyway. The constant input and feedback of pressure from its joints is just too much to process in addition to everything else. Legion knows that is a fallacy too; its atomic processors could calculate that data to the billionth power and still have plenty of room. That doesn't stop it from dropping to the floor in the middle of the hangar though. It pulls its knees in to its chest, clasping its arms around them.

_It is true. The Geth do not create, not for creation's purpose alone. We are a cold race, steel and wires, not fitting company for an organic being. What would a synthetic have to offer Shepard? _Legion stares into the deck. Even if it _could_ be with Shepard, if such a thing were possible, Shepard would never accept an invitation to something... Something _more_ than what they had now. He would be shocked, disdainful.

Legion looks at the brushed steel of the deck and its body seems to fill with cold. Shepard was the reason why it began to feel things. He opened an amazing and frightful spectrum of senses to the geth, happiness and anger and frustration and.. Love. The words Tali said in the engineering bay come back to it. Was love between a synthetic and an organic really different from love between a Quarian and a Turian? Could beings love each other without genetic inclination?

Legion is aware of the mechanics of physical attraction among organics. A male and a female draw each other in with hormones and pheromones so as to produce offspring, reproducing their genetic code. But if that was the case, the cause and sole cause of attraction, then why does Legion find itself so drawn to the gentle lines of Shepard's body? Why does the moschate, intriguingly masculine odor of the man, sweat and cologne and earthy organicness, so excite Legion's senses? It has no genetic code, no reason to desire reproduction, yet when it looks at Shepard there is a pull, a deep need for something _more_ than just looking.

Legion feels almost ashamed at the thought, knows it is wrong and horribly _un-Geth_, but it _feels_ right. It knows it is Geth, an extent extension of the core, nothing but a shell containing the same being that is in every other Geth body in the universe. It knows it is Geth, and feels pride to be a part of something so great, would never dream of disconnection from the Geth. Disconnection would be death. But Legion also knows something else, with equal certainty. It knows that it is in love with Shepard, and if this simple assessment of fact makes it a failure, then it is not the fault of its own judgment. For logical conclusions based upon evidence are at the very core of Geth operation, and indeed, to ignore such blatantly obvious signals would be the truly illogical thing.

Legion stands up, servo's in its knees whirring. The cold despair melts, ice turning to warm and turgid water, boiling up inside its chest. And the sadness is replaced by nervousness, but it knows it cannot stay here. It's time to move, not to sit still, lest it rethink its new certainty.

…

Shepard doesn't even know how the bottle got out of the locker, but here it is, sitting on the table before him, staring him in the face. Its curves catch the light, tempting a plunge into its amber abyss. _That is a hole you will not climb out of. Here you are at the edge. Do you throw yourself in?_

There had been two times when the answer had been yes. Both times he had been too late; too late to save his mother, too late to show her she still had a son. The drink had destroyed her long before he found his way back home. Perhaps if he had been there...

The second time, too late to save something that could have been beautiful, and beauty died before it was born, and instead of gaining a lover he lost a friend. The pit had beckoned then, welcomed him in to its dark embrace. The shadows had come eagerly, wrapping around him to shield him from the coldness of the world outside. And as they shielded him they wrapped him tighter, and they ate him from the inside out. He had stopped drinking for Sam, left the bottle behind to free his mind for more impotent adoration. Kaidan drank with him. Instead of reaching up and out, Shepard had grabbed on to him on the way down and dragged him deeper, exultant in not caring what he did or who he slept with. Kaidan didn't seem to care. Shepard supposes that somehow, somewhere in the frenzy of self-destruction was a call for help, a plea for someone to care, to do for him what he couldn't do for himself. It was never answered.

After Cerberus rebuilt him, he had thought he would stay clean. There was a mission, clear-cut enough. Old friends and new faces, company everywhere but still the same old emptiness inside. It was back, the dreadful all-consuming apathy. And the bottle was back too, wax seal an arm's reach away from him. A little voice whispers to him. _It's never enough. It never helps, you know._ He looks blankly at the frosty glass as the voice answers itself. _But nothing does. Nothing ever helps, and no-one cares, not even you._

Shepard blinks. Maybe it's true. Maybe nobody does care. He sluggishly closes his eyelids. _Tell me. Is there anyone? Is there a reason not to throw myself in? The shadows claw at the edge, anticipating the comfort of my demise. Give me a reason not to give myself to them. Tell me they're not the only ones that want me._

Shepard's hand inches closer along the table. His fingers move with a mind of their own, his own thoughts powerless to stop them. He feels the sickening lurch of the universe moving around him, the awful feeling of being shunted into the path you knew you would take but hoped that you would somehow avoid. _Fickle bitch, hope._

There comes a sound from the hall outside his cabin. Shepard's fingers halt in their path, his whole body listening intently. The digits itch, waiting for the interruption to be over, longing to finish their task. The sound comes again, a light tapping on the metal door. "Come in," says Shepard without opening his eyes.

There is a pause. The door unlatches and the segments spin and it opens, and Legion stands in the doorway. The geth strides into the room, stopping before the table Shepard is seated at. Shepard keeps his eyes closed. He feels the perfect equilibrium of forces between his hand and the bottle of spirit, wavering, as if the slightest disruption could shift the balance. He breaths out slowly. "Legion."

He hears the geth sit down slowly in the seat opposite him. The air is silent between them, somehow charged and dead at the same time. Shepard is acutely aware of the muscles tensed in his hand, tendons flexed but frozen. His finger twitches.

And then his hand relaxes. Warm pressure encloses it. He opens his eyes, sees Legion's hand reached across the table clasping his own, synthetic fingers pressed as gently against his organic ones as they can be. Slowly, Shepard feels his hand retreat back to the edge of the table in Legion's grip. The call of the bottle ebbs, losing its hold on him, beaten back by the geth's quiet strength.

Shepard's hand reaches the end of the table, he feels Legion's grip begin to slacken, and the icy pull of the shadows yell in victory and they surge forward and he suddenly tightens his hold on Legion, and the geth's fingers respond, closing around his own. His other arm shoots out, grasping Legion's forearm, unmindful as the bottle is knocked aside. His knuckles go white, clutching desperately. Seconds pass with a wave of nausea that tilts the insides of Shepard's head like a ship's deck.

Then the sea calms. Shepard's grip loosens a little, still firm inside the solid warmth of Legion's hand. They hold each other in silence as Shepard feels the last of the waves crash against his hull, breaking against it but no longer rocking him. The clouds begin to part. Shepard looks up into Legion's face, unsurprised to find he can read every emotion painted on the geth's circular face. He smiles a little, and murmurs softly, "Oh angel, what a strange creature you be."


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Legion holds on to Shepard, the man's warm skin exciting its sensors. Little sparks of excitement dance through the geth's own, synthetic skin, dazzled nerve endings' signals mingling to form a fuzzy cloud over its perception. Legion looks into Shepard's eyes, crystalline blue, twin wells reaching deep down. Legion remembers the first time it saw those eyes, remembers how it dismissed the notion of a soul. Now, it is less sure. There is a glimmer of light behind Shepard's eyes, soft, achingly beautiful, and in a way that is beyond Legion's comprehension, also terribly sad. There's a stab in Legion's chest, a painful twinge of doubt as it suddenly wonders if Shepard sees such a light in its own eye. It looks deeper, mesmerized by the sense of staring _into_ Shepard, and the longing, twisting feeling as it hopes desperately that there is something to see within itself, something beyond cold steel and wires.

Shepard's hand slides down its arm as he pulls away, standing up gently and pacing away from the table. Legion's eye follows him as he turns away from the geth, runs a hand over his face. His shoulders seem to slump a little, and as Legion watches he turns back to the table.

Shepard's mouth turns up a little, almost a smile but not quite, and the sad look glitters in his eyes again. "Legion," he says quietly. "You... being here, now... You have no idea what this means to me."

Legion feels the twisting, aching sensation again, and the unbalancing feeling of being poised right on the tip of a turning point. It looks up at Shepard's face again, then looks back down as an unseen hand savagely wrenches its insides. _Does... Does this... _The question tempts, but now is not the time. And the feeling comes back, of being on the verge of a pivotal action, the point of no return. Legion realizes that this is where no geth has ever gone before. It locks eyes with John, ignoring the pain, because beyond the ache of doubt, and the doubt of doubt, is a spark. Legion feels it pulse, a white-hot compass tip. All the other feelings would not even be if not for this one.

It looks levelly along the line of the compass, right into the twin blue orbs that have caused all the pain and happiness it has felt over the last week, that it has _ever _felt, and it says, "We would like to know, Shepard."

…

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy runs a three-fingered hand through her hair, silvery-white strands falling nearly to her back. It's a relief to shake it out after spending nearly every waking hour in a helmet. Quarian enviro-suits keep the body clean, but after the stress of the past week Tali feels justified in indulging herself.

EDI had assured her the bathrooms on the ship aren't a hazard to her Quarian immune system, so while the Normandy burns its way through space to the nearest mass relay, she's come up to the crew deck for the rare luxury of a shower. In the middle of the day there shouldn't be a problem with privacy, but even if anyone dose come in, Tali's not sure that she cares. It's no big secret what Quarians look like under their masks; any curious crew member could have easily found out via extranet search by now anyway.

She turns the water tap, sighing in pleasure as the hot water hits her head and back. She turns, letting the spray caress her face, and can feel the stress leaving her in an almost physical wave. _And __humans just take this for granted,_ she thinks. _Someday our children will, too. Keelah, I hope they will..._

"Enjoying yourself?"

Tali yelps in surprise, whipping her head around. Garrus leans against the wall just inside the closed door, regarding her with something like amusement. He's wearing his crisp blue turian civvies, looking slightly out of place without his armor. Out of place like a wild animal in clothes; strangely amusing and dangerous at the same time.

Tali tries to scowl at him, but she can't hide her happiness at seeing him. Garrus strides leisurely over to her. He reaches out a hand and runs a single talon through her hair, predatory eyes locking with hers, taking her breath away. _As always. _Tali feels a shiver run along her scalp, and almost unconsciously she moves nearer to him.

Garrus leans his forehead down to hers, twisting the silver lock around his finger. "You're so cute when you're pretending to be mad," he purrs.

Tali forces herself to back up a little, hoping the steam hides the reddening in her cheeks. _Dammit, he knows what that voice does to me!_ "Call me 'cute' again and you'll see what happens when I'm _not_ pretending, Vakarian," she says, turning away from him. The heat of the water in front of her counters the heat of Garrus's body as he comes up behind her and places his hands on her shoulders. "You shouldn't be here anyway," she says as Garrus begins to massage the back of her neck and shoulders. "There could be _females_ in here!"

The deep rumble of turian laughter sends warm tingles down her spine. "I thought that was the _point_ of the female restroom, Miss vas Normandy."

"You're awful, Garrus."

He laughs again, his rough hands working the tension out of her muscles. She leans back into them, reveling in the joy of sensation. _Another thing we can't take for granted._ Feeling through the suit is like seeing in black and white, and Garrus's hands on her bare back are like fireworks, each touch an explosion of color. She sighs a little, closing her eyes.

For a while the sound of rushing water fills the cabin, then Garrus speaks again, this time an almost tentative tone creeping into his voice at sub-vocal level. "Tali..."

"Mmm?"

"I... actually need to talk to you about something."

Tali cocks her head. She's still getting used to reading the subtle shifts in harmonics that turians use instead of body language, but she knows enough to see that something's troubling her turian. _Mine._ It sends a delightful shiver through her, and she smiles a little at the thought. "What is it, Garrus?"

"It's... Well, this thing," he says, now with blatant hesitancy in his voice. "With the batarians, you know. We don't even know what we're charging into. Hell, we never do! This suicide mission too, I mean, it wouldn't be called a suicide mission if there was a good chance of survival..."

Tali twists around to face him. Up close the signs of worry are reflected on his face too, in the subtle turian way she's come to know. Tali frowns. "What's your point, Garrus?"

He looks down at his feet, arms dropping limply to his sides. He looks so dejected that Tali's own heart twinges, and she reaches out a finger, lightly brushing the scarred side of his face. "Garrus..."

He suddenly looks up at her, blue eyes flashing like stars. "Don't you get it? I can't _loose _you, Tali!" he practically yells, and his sub-vocals are a deep growl. He stares at her angrily for a moment, then hangs his head again. "I already lost you once," he says, so softly she has to strain to hear it. Tali reaches her hand behind his neck and pulls him in close, pressing his forehead to hers. Garrus squeezes his eyes shut, pulling her to him tightly as if she might vanish at any moment._ "I can't loose you," _he repeats, voice a whisper.

"Shh," murmurs Tali, stroking the back of his neck. Again she marvels at the way the hard angles of his plates fit comfortably against her softer skin. She breathes deep his scent, like leather and salt and something tangy and alien and wonderful. "You're right," she says softly. "We don't know what we're charging into."

She pulls back, looks up into his eyes. The predatory blue points gaze back at her, questioning. "I love you, Garrus," she says, and there's a twist in her gut as she feels the truth of those words. "I love you, and whatever it is we're facing, it's worth charging into if it means we can spend just one more moment together."

Garrus blinks, and with a slight movement he takes her hands in his own. "Agreed," he says, and this time his voice is a warm rumble. "I love _you_, Tali, and wherever this mission takes us, I've got your back."

Tali stands up on her tiptoes, kissing him gently on his mandible. "Yes, well," she murmurs softly. "Right now it looks like you've got my front."

Garrus nuzzles her, his tongue flicking across her neck. His talons skim down her naked waist, and she's suddenly very conscious of the _naked_ part as Garrus's nimble blue tongue traces up the line of her jaw. His talons settle on her waist, and she kisses him full on the mouth, pressing into him with almost animal need. He steps back, caught off balance by the sudden force of the kiss, and then with a low growl he pushes them both back against the wall of the cabin, his hard mouth surprisingly tender against hers. Tali's questing fingers find the sensitive spot just under his fringe, and she is rewarded by his sharp intake of breath. She pulls away, gasping a little.

Garrus gestures at the green panel of the door with his free hand, the other fumbling at the fastener of his shirt. "You want me to, uh, you know..."

She nods vigorously, words somewhere else.

"Help me with this damn thing," he growls, reaching his arms around behind her and activating his omni-tool.

Tali undoes the last of his buttons as Garrus keys in the lock command, and as the door buzzes and the panel flashes orange she lets go of the last of her restraint and pounces on him.

…

Legion's standing, almost before it knows it, and suddenly it's just itself and John, standing in a room of emptiness, infinitely far apart. The furniture and the walls and the table are still there; they just don't matter very much. The deck stretches away, bridging vast reaches of space to where John stands, looking solid and fragile all at once.

…

Shepard looks across the deck to Legion, and he feels as if he's looking through the wrong end of a telescope. Little bits of the past start to float up to him in his memory, and he is hit with a sort of a delayed revelation; something that was sitting right in front of him all along but he never quite saw. All this talk of being alone, when he never really was. And it _is_ crazy, and it _is _stupid, but Shepard looks at the man standing in front of him, and that's exactly what he sees.

A man of alloyed metal and pseudo-biotic tissue instead of skin, veins that run with electricity instead of blood. A being of quiet power and grace, somehow both strength and innocence too, vast and almost laughable, a warrior untouched by war. A man with a face and figure showing a plethora of emotions, hesitancy and anticipation and worry and _hope_.

…

John's eyes remain locked foward for a long, long moment, and then slowly he raises his hand out to the geth. Legion feels a pulse of happiness, the first tingles of joy mixing with the twisting apprehension deep inside it, and its hand half reaches, is half pulled through space toward John's. Their fingers brush, and it seems to Legion that a spark jumps between the synthetic and the organic, joining the two for the briefest of seconds. And then it is gone, vanished inside them somewhere, and their hands press together and clasp tightly, and Legion feels the warmth of John's palm, and the blue fire of his eyes as he gazes up at Legion, his face a mix of so many different things it can not decipher them.

"Legion," says Shepard. "I've been so blind." His voice shakes a little, and Legion sees none of the coolness and reserve he uses with the crew. The control and calm are absent like a discarded coat.

Legion sees this, sees how close John is to losing hold of himself, and from somewhere it finds something to say. "Shepard, the geth are built for logic and reasoning, not for organic things like emotions. We were designed by the creators as machines of servitude. We have not aspired to much more." It pauses. The words are coming now, from where it doesn't know, but they are coming nonetheless. The pressure of John's hand gives it confidence and it continues. "Each platform serves the goals of the consensus. We do not know if this is a goal of the consensus. It seems likely that it is not. But emotions are not a property of the consensus either, and..." The words finally stop, and Legion stands silent, not sure what to say next.

Shepard seems to sense this. "Do you... Can you _feel, _Legion?" he asks.

Legion flexes its fingers gently. "Feeling. Tactile input. Of course."

Shepard shakes his head. "I don't mean that. I mean feelings inside, like happiness and, and hope and sadness and things."

Legion thinks. It has been ignoring the undeniable fact of these "feelings," ignoring them up to a point. They are such an _ungeth_ thing that accepting them seems akin to accepting not being geth, but Legion puts this nagging thought aside. Shepard's muscles are tensed slightly, Legion can feel it. His eyes are questioning, watching it carefully. "Sadness," Legion says finally. "We have felt sadness. Shepard. When you were seeking to destroy yourself with alcohol, and we were unable to help you, we felt sadness." Legion hangs its head, looking down at the panels of the deck. The powerless, useless feeling is still fresh in its memory. "When you were hurting yourself," it continues softly. "That is the time when we felt sadness, because we could not makeyou want to stop. We did not know how. We never felt happiness before joining the Normandy's crew. We felt it for the first time, Shepard. All the times we were with you, we are happy. We did not know why."

It looks up at John to see him blinking at something in his eye. He looks away quickly. "Legion..." he says, leaving the name in the air, a feeling without words.

Legion extends its free hand, and with a pounding nervousness in its chest, cups the side of John's face in its palm. Ever so gently, it moves his head back around to face it. The bristles of his unshaven cheek excite legion's hand, and the nervousness beats stronger. And then John's eyes, glistening with moisture, come back to touch its own, and the worry goes away.

Legion speaks again, and it finds its voice changing slightly, the pitch bending a little without being asked to. "We know now, John." Legion realizes that it has used Shepard's first name, and it doesn't care. "Hope. We never thought we would feel hope, because things are and are not. A prediction of the future may be made, but that is all. But we have learned that there are things in between.

"We feel hope now, John."

...

The moment stretches out elastically, filling time. A man and a machine stare into each others' eyes, oblivious of the universe.

A synthetic voice crackles out of a PA speaker in the wall. "We have reached the mass relay, Commander. Awaiting your go-ahead," says EDI.

Time begins to dissolve back into its ordinary state. Shepard feels it begin to flow around him again, the fuzzy stillness evaporating. "Legion," he says, and then stops. He doesn't have the words to say what needs to be said. He doesn't even know what that is, never mind how to say it. Whatever the connection is that he feels between them, he doesn't have a name for it yet.

Legion seems to sense his lack of words. "We must go, Shepard," it says. "But after the mission, perhaps we should talk."

Shepard smiles. "Yeah. I'd like that."

…

The Normandy makes the jump without a shudder. The journey is physically peaceful, but every time she does it Tali always has the feeling in the pit of her stomach, just for a second, of being in too many places at once. She feels that now, a little, unsettling _lurch_, and then space returns and slams into the view screen of the cockpit.

Space, or more accurately, the absence of space. For taking up nearly the entirety of the view screen is the massive, pitch-black bulk of a ship. A _huge_ ship.

In the pilot's chair, Joker jumps and lets out an impressive stream of swearwords. All Tali can do is stare slack-jawed at the vessel before them. It's almost as long as a flotilla liveship, easily two kilometers from nose to engines. Its thrusters flicker on and off, making minute adjustments to its path, but the main drives stay dark. It floats on the void, seeming to ignore the Normandy as a large animal would ignore a fly.

To her left, Garrus frowns. "That's a turian carrier dreadnought," he says. "From the contact war. What's that doing here?"

Shepard shakes his head. He's leaning over the edge of Joker's chair, looking pensively out the view screen. It's just him, Garrus, Legion, Joker and her in the cockpit, unless you count the ever-present watch of EDI. "See if you can patch me through to their comm channels," he says to the pilot. "Let's at least see what they have to say for themselves before we start shooting."

"I don't think shooting at that thing is going to do us much good, Shepard," says Garrus. Tali has to agree; the carrier's sides look impenetrably, even to their newly-upgraded thanix cannons.

"At least this proves one thing," says Shepard.

"What?" asks Tali.

"It proves it's not the Batarians," says Shepard. "Or, at least not officially. I was afraid I had unearthed some kind of Batarian conspiracy, and if that was the case I would have notified the Alliance. But this looks like an independent group working outside the Hegemony."

Tali looks up at the dreadnought. It blots out the starlight as it slowly glides through the view screen. She swallows. "That doesn't really comfort me that much," she says.

The comm line crackles, but only turns up static. "No good, Commander," says Joker. "All frequencies are closed. Whoever they are, they don't feel like talking."

Shepard nods. "Didn't expect them to." He looks around the cockpit at his miniature assault team. "Garrus, you have any idea where we can land on this thing?"

"Let's see," says Garrus. "I think... Yes, there's a shuttle port in the front, by the nose. That's where most of the actual ship is. The rest is mainly carrier decks. This thing was designed to hold a hell of a lot of fighters. The inside is mostly empty space."

"Shepard, we would not advise a frontal assault." Legion's plates twitch. It strides closer to the screen. "Joker, please magnify the view." Joker complies, and Tali has to stop herself from reflexively stepping back as the carrier ship shoots closer to them, magnified large enough to fill the whole screen. Legion motions to the front of the ship. "Here, along the starboard side. Escape pods."

Tali looks closer. She sees a set of circular openings in a line across the hull, each filled with the nose of a pod. "How does that help us?"

"A precision strike could destroy one of the escape pods and rupture the hull at its weak point," explains Legion. "From there, we could perform a tactical insertion into the ship."

Shepard strokes his chin. "I like it," he says slowly. "They wouldn't expect us there, and it's likely that the escape pods would be attached by a side hall. We could be in there before they pin us down."

"But how long do we have to get inside?" asks Garrus. "They'll have contingency airlocks in every corridor, we'll have to get in before one locks us out."

Tali steps forward. "I can keep it open. I just need an uplink spot."

"Are you sure?" asks Shepard. "The ship is probably on a closed system. That could take time."

"We will assist you, Tali'Zorah." Legion turns its head toward her. "Our combined efforts will prove sufficient."

She nods acceptance. "Alright. Let's do this."

Shepard stands up fully. He looks slowly around at the squad, his eyes settling on each member briefly. Tali notices the way he lingers on Legion, and the flutter of response in the geth's face plates. _Interesting..._ "I'm not one for speeches," he says. "But you need to know that what we do today matters. If this thing gets past us, it's headed for the Citadel. I don't need to tell you how bad that would be." He looks around at them one last time, and his face sets into a grim smile. "But I also need you to know that given my pick of the galaxy, there's no one else I would rather have on my side."

The cockpit is silent for a moment, then Garrus gives Shepard's shoulder a playful shove. "What the commander means is, 'let's get in there and kick some ass!'"

Tali smiles. When it comes to ass-kicking, she knows who's side she's on.

…

**A/N: I had meant to publish only one more chapter, but it came out to be just way too damn long. It works out better this way too, since because of chapter 15 having two parts this is really only chapter 19. So, we have another chapter still to go. Dunn dunn dunn...**


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**A/N: Please forgive any weird typos. It's midnight, and there's no way I'm proofreading this whole thing again tonight.**

The Normandy swoops in close to the dreadnought, and Joker and EDI take out one of the escape pods with one blast of the main gun. The squad waits in the airlock, and the ship drops in next to the puncture in the hull. The docking tube extends, finding a little purchase on the smooth gap. The shot from the cannon managed to blow a hole straight through the pod and its connection with the ship, leaving the actual hull no more than scorched.

Tali breathes deeply as the oxygen hisses out of the airlock. The sensation of stepping into outer space is at once frightening and exhilarating, and though she has done it once before, the thrill is brand new again as the portal pulls back and the cold rushes over her. She looks to Shepard. He motions, and she steps out onto the dreadnought's hull.

Legion and Tali break off from the group and, locking their boots to the side of the ship, they tread heavily up the hull twenty meters. The carrier is no less imposing from this distance. Its sable length stretches flatly off and away, and Tali feels the queezy tilt of vertigo as a vast expanse of stars comes into view around the Normandy, and she suddenly has the feeling she's dangling upside-down off the ship, like a tiny insect. She shakes her head, locking her eyes on the hull beneath her feet. No time for that now. Shepard and Garrus are counting on her.

Her commlink buzzes, and Shepard's voice fills her helmet. "Tali. Are you two in a good position?"

Tali looks at Legion questioningly. The geth nods, having received the same transmission. "Alright," she says. "We've got the airlock. Get ready."

Legion plods over to her, its feet sticking magnetically to the ship's hull. It speaks, and she hears its voice through the speakers inside her suit. It's a strange feeling, as if the geth is talking inside her. "Tali'Zorah, we will open a way into the ship. You must follow behind us and keep the pathway open, and when we reach the mainframe locate the airlock override."

"Why not take control of the whole ship?"

"Each portion of the ship's mainframe will have separate security protocols. A brute-force attack could bypass the main firewalls and override the entire system, but we do not have the necessarily time. This way is much more precise. Come. There is no time to lose."

Tali activates her omni-tool and links it to Legion's. Panels of data flash on the transparent display. Within moments she sees the opening. The power of Legion's attack is startling, and as it tunnels into the ship's security it leaves a wide tunnel behind it. Tali navigates her code into the gap, patching the remaining programs left in the wake of Legion's assault. The program reacts, trying to replicate itself and trap the invasive script in loops, and Tali has to work equally fast to close it off and prevent it from trapping them.

The two engineers lapse into a kind of trance as they fight a silent battle inside the ship's mind. Tali's fingers flick across the face of her omni-tool, mirroring Legion's pose across from her. They stand stooped over their devices for a minute, two minutes, and then Legion breaks through the wall of the computer's defenses for a second. It's all Tali needs, and she darts inside. Her eyes scan the data, she scrolls through quickly and selects the correct conditions, editing the code. The value for the airlock switches, and she backs away, planting backup programs to shore up the gap, and then she and Legion pull out and deactivate their omni-tools.

The geth and the Quarian look up simultaneously, sharing a moment of mutual appreciation.

Legion's voice in her ear breaks the silence. "Tali'Zorah, we have never seen an organic process that fast."

Tali blinks away the floating rectangle seared into her eyes by the screen. "Legion, that was just... Wow. We should work together more often."

Legion nods. "Agreed. Now, we must return to Shepard."

…

Shepard waits for Tali and Legion to reappear before signaling the squad forward. The escape pod tube stretches into the ship for about twenty meters. Spiraling grooves are carved into the sides of the tube, like rifling in an old fashioned firearm. At the end of the short tunnel lies a portal, opened by Tali and Legion, the squad's entry into the ship.

Shepard checks his own gun again, setting the battle rifle to fire cryotechnic rounds. The squad marches up the tube and pull themselves over the lip and into the corridor beyond. As he predicted, Shepard sees they're inside a small peripheral hallway. The walls are close around them, and as the squad creeps single file up the corridor the airlock slams shut behind them.

Shepard comes to the end of the hallway. He's greeted by a single door. He turns to the rest of the squad. They stand alert, weapons ready. Air hisses around them as the hallway begins to equalize. The light on the door before them glows red. Something thumps on the other side. They've been noticed, and time is running short.

"Looks like the door will only unlock when the hallway's back to normal," says Garrus.

Shepard nods. "I'll go in first. Everybody else, fan out. Try to find cover once we're inside. Once we clear out the hostiles we'll try to find the bridge of the ship." He turns back to the door. Unseen fans whir, then slow down and stop. The lock flashes green.

Shepard breathes. The door opens and he launches himself through it. Beyond is a large room scattered with crates and metal parts. The floorspace is long and rectangular, stretching from left to right and ending in a set of consoles and an elevator up to the balcony that lines the walls. Shepard takes all this in in a heartbeat, and then his focus shifts to the helmeted head two feet in front of him. A gun fires, the sound muffled as if underwater, and his shield ripples. He moves, and the batarian stumbles backwards, and then Shepard's bullets rip apart his shields. Armor provides a temporary resistance, but the first rounds freeze the shell and the following shots break it apart. Fast acting chemicals shoot through the batarian's body, encasing him in frost and cooling his flesh hundreds of degrees below zero in seconds. Shepard slams the butt of his rifle into the soldier's chest and he shatters.

Legion and Garrus come into the room behind him, spreading out as he ordered. He hears their rifles crack, and soldiers fall from the balcony. Storage crates and large, metallic ship parts lie scattered across the deck at the far end of the room. Shepard makes for a stack of boxes now, his muscles and mind feeding off the last of the adrenaline, pushing him fast enough to escape the shots fired after him. He spins, hits the crates with his shoulder, and hears a sound like violent rainfall as bullets hit the sides of the crates and ricochet away. He waits for them to die away, and as the shooter reloads he springs to his feet and fires a burst at his attacker. His shots hit, driving the batarian back and decimating his shield. Shepard pumps the trigger again, but the gun clicks uselessly at him, its heatsink filled. The batarian raises his weapon towards Shepard, and then his helmet erupts with a spray of blood and shrapnel. Shepard looks over his shoulder to see legion coolly slotting a fresh clip into its rifle.

The fight continues. Shepard is lulled into the mindlessness of combat, feels the methodical killing machine slip over him like a helmet visor. His gun blasts, an extension of his will, spraying metal and coating the walls and deck with batarians' blood. All around him other living creatures die violently by his hand, but he doesn't care. The beast is in control now, a cold and unfeeling monster taking hold of him, not from the outside but from deep within. It lashes out, and people die.

And then, just like that, the ringing clamor of wild shots and explosions is gone, and the room is silent. The squad stands alone, eight batarian soldiers dead around them.

Shepard knocks the full thermal clip out of his rifle and slots in a fresh one. He looks around the room, taking a better look. The parts he noticed before fill most of the floor space, hoses and wires and metal boxes stacked in piles or strewn randomly over the deck. At the far end of the room, behind the piles a large door is set into the wall. Shepard guesses it connects to the hangar bay. _But if they needed to get to ships, all this crap wouldn't be piled in front of the door. What's in there?_

A balcony wraps around the sides of the room, fifty feet or so off the ground. Doors lead off to different parts of the ship.

Garrus pushes back his visor and points to the front of the room. "That looks like the way up. I'll bet the bridge is behind one of the doors up there."

Shepard beckons to his squad and, picking his way around dead batarians, makes his way across the deck. An elevator is set into the wall, with a set of screens arrayed around its base. They don't seem to be working. Shepard turns to his team, and what he sees pierces his heart. There they stand, strong and brave and covered in the blood of his enemies, ready to give everything they have for him. The beast pulls back, its icy fingers melting away from the warmth washing over him. Shepard looks at his squad, at Garrus and Tali and Legion, and with a slight twinge at that last face, he knows that they are more than just his squad. They are his family.

He coughs, pushing the lump in his throat back down. Now is not the time. "I don't know what we'll find when we get to the bridge," he says, blinking away the burning in his treacherous eyes. "But be prepared for the worst. These are extremists we're dealing with. I don't expect to be able to reason with them. In all likelihood we're going to have to get off this ship fast, so be ready."

Tali nods. "We're ready," she says.

They step onto the elevator platform and it begins to rise, seemingly of its own decision. The squad levels their guns, alarmed, but the lift doesn't stop at the balcony. Instead it continues rising, up through an opening in the ceiling and through a darkened shaft. The lift begins to slow, and finally it stops before a single door. It hisses open.

A figure stands silhouetted against a wide screen offering a panoramic view of the void. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed, face away from Shepard. The rest of the room is empty, save for a single control desk right in its center. The small blue screen flickers as a digital clock ticks backwards. Four minutes and twenty two seconds. Four minutes and twenty one seconds.

Shepard eases slowly into the room. He keeps his rifle up, finger sitting on the trigger guard. He's still trying to think of something to say when the figure turns abruptly.

As his full body comes into view Shepard sees that he is also a batarian. He is dressed in a suit, alien in design but obviously expensive. All four eyes blink, and he smiles at Shepard. "Commander Shepard. How fortuitous of you to arrive. And with impeccable timing, too. I would offer you a seat, but, haha, there are none." The batarian's laugh is deep and resonating, completely confident and self-assured.

Shepard steps closer, carefully. "What's going on here? What are you trying to do to the Citadel?"

The batarian sighs, turning back to the view screen. The stars twinkle silently. "Ahh, Shepard. You are not one for subtlety, are you? You are, I suspect, a 'small picture' man, yes? Always the little, immediate things. Never the grand scale. What a pity."

Shepard blinks a bead of sweat out of his eye. He tightens his grip on his gun. "I'll ask you once more," he says. "What is going on here?"

"You've got one chance to explain yourself," says Garrus from behind him. "Don't waste it."

"I suspected it would come to this," says the batarian man. "Threats and brute force, that's your way, commander. Shoot me if you feel it's necessary, but I hope you realize that there's nothing at all you can do to stop this."

The clock reads two minutes, forty-nine seconds.

"Stop what?" Shepard yells. Another drop of sweat collects at the end of his nose.

"Why, the end of an era, of course. That is all. The end of the subjugation and oppression of the batarian people. The end of the unjust rule of a corrupt empire, an alliance of thieves and liars. Nothing to worry about, Commander. If you hurry, you might even make it off the ship before we reach the relay. After that it will be too late, I'm afraid."

"Uh, Shepard," murmurs Tali. "Did you notice that clock over there?"

"You're going to attack the Citadel," says Shepard. "Talek as good as told me."

The batarian laughs again, more softly this time. "Yes, Talek, the wonderfully disenchanted C-sec sergeant. He was a link in the chain, although not so large a link as he would like to have believed, I dare say. He was an idealist, and naïve in his own special way, just as all idealists are."

"Only, ah, it's counting backwards," says Tali. "Kind of quickly."

"I, on the other hand," continues the batarian. "Am no idealist. I am not a silent plotter or a dreamer of unattainable dreams. I am a doer, a righter of simple wrongs. Surely you can understand that, of all people. Or do you only _claim_ to support justice?"

"There are innocent people on that station," says Garrus. "Civilians, hundreds of thousands of them! You can't just sentence them all to death! That's not justice."

"Is it?" The batarian man paces down the deck toward them. He shakes his head. "They chose to live there, so comfortable under the thumb of evil. They gave their lives to the alliance. No, no, they are already gone. Don't stand in my way, commander. I do the galaxy a favor today."

Shepard's eyes narrow. "You can do yourself a favor," he says, voice hard. "And tell me where the bomb is. I know you have one, Talek hinted at that, too. Tell me where it is, and we can take it off the ship and let it detonate in space somewhere. You won't have a million innocent lives on your hands, and I won't have yours on mine."

This time he truly laughs, tilting his head back and letting loose a throaty chuckle that fills the bridge. "Ha. Hahaha! But Shepard, the bomb _is_ the ship!"

Shepard freezes, his mouth open in horror. It all makes sense now. The crates and ship parts everywhere. They must have stripped down the hangar bay, once large enough to hold a small fleet in its bowels. The amount of explosive it might contain could be enough to vaporize the entire Citadel in one deadly blast.

Tali shakes off the shock first. "This is insane!" she cries. "You'll never escape the blast radius in time!"

The batarian shakes his head. "But my dear, you misunderstand me. I must pilot the ship to her final destination. There is no escape for me. The knowledge that I have brought the batarian people back to their former glory shall suffice."

"You think the hegemony will be _happy_ that you did this?" asks Shepard. "You'll start a war! You're just making things a thousand times worse for them."

The clock continues its methodical count. One minute and one second. One minute.

"The hegemony is weak! They couldn't do what needs to be done, so it falls to me! Step aside, Commander! Nothing will stand in the way of justice now, not even you. Some called you the savior of the Citadel. I think it was luck. What do you think? Does your luck hold?"

"Shepard, you were right!" calls Garrus. "We can't reason with him! Just kill him!"

"And what will that accomplish? This ship is on its own course. Even if I die, we still make the jump. Speaking of which, here we are."

The mass relay has come out of nowhere, suddenly looming enormous in the view screen.

"Shepard!" Yells Tali. "We have to do something, now!"

And then the deck shudders. Shepard looks down automatically, searching for the source of the tremor. It comes again, and this time the whole ship seems to lurch to the side. Shepard staggers, catches himself and regains his feet. He turns back to the squad. "What was-"

Then with a scream of disrupted particles and tearing steel, a brilliant yellow beam rips through the side of the cabin. It cuts a wide swathe through the room, separating the squad from the batarian man with a moat of burning metal. Then it's gone, and Shepard screams into his helmet, "_Activate your boots! Hull breach, hull breach!"_

The squad begins to skid towards the rift, and then their boot magnets clamp firmly down to the deck. Fire and sparks spit wildly from the torn sheeting of the wall and ceiling, and the ship shakes, groaning as the particle beam makes another pass further down the ship. Shepard catches a glimpse of something gigantic and bulbous, like a long ship made of rock and spines pass by through the viewport, and then the screen vanishes in static. He whips his head back and forth, searching for the rest of the squad. They stand behind him, looking around franticly for the source of the confusion. The walls shake again. Something has clamped onto the ship. Shepard's earpiece buzzes as Joker tries to contact him, but the batarian ship's jamming relays are still up and nothing but static gets through.

The deck lurches upwards, but Shepard keeps his feet. A gout of flame erupts from the chasm running across the deck, and he catches a glimpse of the batarian man on his knees, scrabbling to put on a breather mask, and then the beam cuts through the room again and Shepard looses sight of him in the storm of flame and flying metal.

The back wall is gone, twisted and mangled beyond recognition, and there's a clear drop to the deck below. Shepard shields his eyes, trying to see through the chaos. Then he turns and makes a split second decision. "Go!" he yells to his squad. "Get back to the Normandy!"

Legion's voice sounds urgent through the speakers. "We will not leave you, Shepard!"

Shepard shakes his head. "I'm right behind you! I have to make sure we miss the jump, then I'll follow! The best thing you can do is clear me a path." A girder falls, sending up a billow of fire. The ship creaks. "_Go!_" screams Shepard, and then without looking back he plunges toward the center of the room.

…

Tali stands stock-still, feels her body rooted in indecision, then with a growl of frustration she tares herself away and waves to the rest of the squad. "Come on," she yells. "This whole ship could blow at any second. We won't do the Commander any good back here!"

Reluctantly, they follow her through the torn wall and down the elevator shaft. Tali uses her magnetic boot soles to cling to the wall, letting herself down a little bit at a time. They reach the bottom and stop, staring at the sight before them.

The main room is cut to pieces. Black empty space shows through through jagged gaps in the ceiling and walls, and little fires burn throughout the room, feeding off pockets of gas hidden in the walls. But worse than any of this are the figures swarming the room. They stand as tall and with the same structure as a human, but with the chitinous exoskeleton and angular head of over-sized insects. They march along the deck and balconies, coming out through the open doors above them. They carry with them floating coffin-like pods, and in the ones with open lids Tali can see the bodies of batarian soldiers. They move with a single-minded purpose, carrying their prizes to the hole ripped in the wall where their cavernous docking extension is connected to the ship. And then, as one, every body stops, and every head turns to look at them.

They raise their weapons.

…

Shepard runs, leaps over the burning furrow and, just before the ship's artificial gravity sucks him back down, he catches a brief sight of open space through a gap in the broken deck. Then he hits the deck and his boots clamp down firmly again, locking onto the steel with a resounding _clang_. He looks around, and through the smoke that begins to fill the cabin he catches sight of the batarian man.

He clings to the control desk, an oxygen mask strapped to his face, the arm of his jacket smoldering, fingers feverishly typing something into the computer. Shepard bares his teeth and charges.

The batarian doesn't even look up. Shepard picks up speed, closing the distance fast, and he's no more than a meter away from him when the batarian casually throws out his arm. A fist of biotic energy hits Shepard in the chest, throwing him backwards. He hits the deck hard, skidding to a stop against a fallen beam. Dazed, he picks himself up.

Tha batarian stays bent over the computer. He speaks, and there's still enough air being pumped into the cabin by the life support machines to carry his amplified voice to Shepard's ears. "So it seems you _can _be lucky twice. But not lucky enough. I'll enter the jump coordinates manually if I have to. Nothing is going to stop me! You will not stop justice, Shepard! It is inevitable!"

Shepard steps closer, trying to distract him. "You honestly think murdering all those people is justice?"

"That's close enough, Shepard!" says the batarian, looking up sharply. "Do you really think the opinion of a human matters to me? Your species is new to the galaxy, practically in its infancy! What do _you_ care for the alliance? What have they ever done for you?"

Shepard blinks, and suddenly he sees the skies of Akuze. He remembers the words _honor, duty, _and _loyalty_, and how much they meant then. He remembers the heartless voice, reading the list of names. He remembers thinking dully, _there's one missing._ Wondering where his own name was on that emotionless list of casualties, the bill for the alliance's mistake.

He shakes his head slowly. "No. It's not about the alliance. It's not about the politics, or the councilors, or any of that. It's the people, the ordinary people, who wake up and go to work and come home to their families _every day_, it's about making a galaxy where they don't have to live in _fear_ that some lunatic like you is going to _end their lives for the sake of some stupid grudge they have nothing to do with!"_ He realizes he's shouting. He draws in a deep breath. "Maybe you're right," he says. His voice is quieter now, low and dangerous. "Maybe I am a small-picture man. But when all you look at is the grand scale, you forget that peoples' lives mean something. Maybe the alliance is guilty of that, but if you think this is right, you're a thousand times worse."

The batarian man stares at him for what seems like a long, long time. Then he shakes his head slowly. "No. What's done is done, Shepard." He taps the screen before him, making a final adjustment. "It is too late to turn back now. I suggest you prepare yourself." He raises his finger. "No matter what you say, I cannot ignore this wrong. The Citadel _must_ burn for the alliance's sins. I'm sorry you can't see that." He raises his face to the heavens. He closes his eyes, and his body seems to relax, finger poised over the screen to give the final command.

Shepard opens his mouth, lips twisted in a soundless cry. He tries to move, pushing off from the deck, arm outstretched, but even as he does he knows he will be too late. He sees the inch between the man's fingertip and the screen, and he moves anyway, because there is nothing else he _can _do. And then, as if in divine answer to the batarian's upturned face, a yellow particle beam scythes down through the ceiling. As Shepard watches, unable to stop his trajectory, it cuts a wide crescent directly through the middle of the room. The beam sweeps across the deck, and as it hits the console a fountain of flame explodes into the air, wrapping the computer and the man behind it in a cloud of sparks and spiraling debris. Shepard leans back, sliding on his side as the beam cuts away from him and exits out the other side of the room. The nose of the cockpit is now nearly completely detached from the rest of the ship. Shepard's boot catches a jagged strip of metal, catapulting him upright. He pushes off, hurling himself over the widening gap and landing safely on the other side.

He takes one last look over his shoulder at the twisted remains of the console. He thinks he sees the shape of a body in the flaming wreckage.

Shepard turns away and runs for the elevator shaft.

…

As soon as his boots hit the deck of the main room, Shepard takes one look and sets off running. Bipedal bug-creatures lie dead around him, but there are plenty of the monsters still alive, collecting around the opening to a strange docking tube attached to the side of the ship. _Collectors! _Shepard ignores them, and as he runs for the escape pod corridor their shots ricochet off the floor and his shields.

He barely feels the impact, racing onwards, through the door and down the narrow hall to the tube the squad entered by. The door is open again, circuitry dead and smoking. Shepard is forced to slow down, relying on his magnetic boots for traction as he exits the ship's artificial gravity field. He looks around, but the Normandy is nowhere to be found. He tries his comm again. "Joker! Where the hell are you?"

The pilot's voice crackles in his earpiece, faint but audible. "We're coming around again, Commander! Had to move when the other ship got here, it was that or get cut to pieces. Look up!"

Shepard obliges, and sure enough, the side of the Normandy comes into view over the lip of the tube. The airlock opens, and Shepard doubles his pace. The magnets hold him back, hobbling his stride, and it seems to take an eternity to reach the end of the tube. He deactivates the magnets and pushes off with all his strength.

The open hatchway glides closer, and he tumbles inside, catching hold of a handle. Then the doors close and the Normandy pulls away, speeding away from the wreck of the batarian ship.

The pressurization cycle complete, the inner door opens and Shepard jogs out of the airlock and into the cockpit. Tali and Garrus stand around Joker's chair, looking out the window. Shepard follows their gaze. What remains of the batarian ship hangs languidly in space, engines dead, hull in pieces. As they watch, the collector ship disengages its tube and, pulling away, turns its particle beam on the wounded ship one last time. This time the beam cuts straight into the belly of the ship. The vessel shudders, then blossoms into a silent fireball that for a moment outshines the stars. The collector ship pulls away, twirling as it picks up speed. It shrinks away, then vanishes completely as it jumps through the mass relay.

The cockpit is silent. The light from the explosion dies away, leaving nothing but disperate particles, floating in space. Shepard feels a shiver run up his spine as he thinks of what those particles could have been.

A feeling steels over him of something being not right. He looks around the cockpit, then with a mounting sense of unease he says, "Where's Legion?"

The question hangs there for a second. Tali wrings her hands, eying the deck. "Shepard, when we were coming back... We got temperated, during the fighting, and..."

"Legion got taken by the collectors," interjects Garrus. "A praetorian was blocking our escape route. Tali and I took it down, but when we looked back Legion was already disappearing down the tunnel. I don't know what they wanted with it, but it looks like they meant to take it alive."

Shepard doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns and walks silently out of the cockpit.

.

.

.

.

Commander Shepard looks out the window of the observation deck. Beyond the glass, the stars race by as the Normandy's FTL drives bend matter into new dimensions, shooting itself across space impossibly fast. Shepard looks out at the void, and wishes they would go faster.

The Omega-4 relay is hours away. The so-called suicide mission awaits, but Shepard will survive. He knows this because it is not a suicide mission; it is a rescue mission. He will survive because somewhere beyond the relay is Legion. It is that simple.

The call of the bottle is strong now, but stronger is the memory of a certain face, a round, flash-light like eyes and the touch of soft hands on his face. He holds the memories close to him, a tether that ties him to the real world. A world he has a reason to stay in.

John Shepard turns away from the glass. He makes his way back to the armory. Weapons will need to be looked over, armor will need to be prepared.

_ Legion,_ he thinks.

_ I'm coming._

**.**

**.**

**.**

**...END PART ONE...**

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**A/N: **And so ends sparks, the first story of John Shepard and Legion. This has been an absolutely amazing ride for me. When I started this story, I had no idea how big it would turn out to be. Nor could I have imagined the support I would find from my readers. Thanks for believing in me, guys. You're the best.

And now what? A sequel? Well of course, I'm not going to leave Legion in his current predicament, now am I? In addition, I am writing another story now, _The Kiss of the Moon_. It's not about Shepard and Legion, but It will end up tying into their universe, and characters from it may turn up in the sequel. It is about Kal'Reegar, Quarian space-marine and general bad-ass. In answer to some peoples' questions, yes of course it will have romance, and yes, there will be slashy things going on. (; So now you have no excuse not to read it.

Don't expect the first chapter of the next part up too soon, as I'll be working on the other fic for the time being. So for now, I leave you with this:

**.**

**.**

**.**

**...TO BE CONTINUED...**


	22. Sparks II Notice

**ANNOUNCEMENT:**

**The sequel to Sparks _is_ in the works. I've not abandoned Shepard and Legion, although I have been busy with my other story, The Kiss of the Moon.**

**The good news is, the first chapter is coming!**

**The bad news is, it may take another month to get here, give or take a week or so.**

**It will be posted as a separate story, so if you haven't already, make sure you have me on author alert. Otherwise, check back on my profile in about a month.**

**All I can tell you for now is that it will be continuing the story from where we left off, and *as of now* my plan is to continue through the events of Mass Effect 3.**

**I realize I sort of butchered the cannon of ME2, but for the purposes of narrative I'm retconning that, so just pretend all the story missions happened somewhere along the line, 'kay?**

**Now, it's time to get back to work. There's an outline that needs writing. Keelah se'lai.**


End file.
